


Seams and Scars

by Paper0wl



Series: Rod and Shield [24]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek: Voyager, Supernatural
Genre: Alien Nazis, And Following Instructions, Because They're Tricksters and Spies, But Truth Gives Everyone Hives, Don't Try This At Home, Episode: s04e18-19 The Killing Game, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, Gen, Gut-Wrenching Irony, Inappropriately Violent Reactions, Insanity, Masks Reveal the Truth, Past Brainwashing, Really Bad Ideas for Therapy, Roleplay, They're All Really Bad at Being Themselves, Witchcraft, no I'm not joking about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper0wl/pseuds/Paper0wl
Summary: "What are they doing upstairs?"
  
  "Gabriel's version of therapy."
  
  "And what's that?"
  
  "He made a holodeck and James is working out his issues by shooting fictional Nazis."
 Gabriel's version of therapy is completely insane. Then again, no one ever accused ninjas of being sane. Victoria is finding out the hard way that they're all functional lunatics.Or . . . World War II: The House Party Remix





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a slight issue where I posted the first chapter, then deleted the work and reposted it ten minutes later. Sorry about the confusion!
> 
> Between Gabriel's idiot box and Barnes' history with Hydra, I got hooked onto the idea of Gabriel having Barnes shoot ficitonal Nazis as therapy, and since this was one of my favorite episodes of Star Trek Voyager it was too perfect.
> 
> (It just took freaking forever to write/edit it properly.)
> 
> Title from Vienna Teng's Level Up. It's a great song and it ended up included in this story.
> 
> Merry Christmas and/or winter holiday of your choice!

A year ago, if she had seen the Winter Soldier glaring, Victoria Hand would probably have run the other way while calling in a strike team. Now she just wanted a shower. She could smell the smoke on her clothes. Most of the STRIKE personnel had been Hydra anyway.

In what Bela referred to as “crazy Russian killer mode,” she was still a little scared shitless of the Winter Soldier, but considering his “neutral” face was a borderline scowl it was possible she had built up a tolerance over the past almost four months. Also, if anything, Victoria was more worried about the guy with phenomenal cosmic powers and the temperament of a whimsical toddler. The worst the Winter Soldier could do was shoot her; Gabriel had a tendency to be sadistically more creative.

 “You’re hopeless!” Gabriel exclaimed dismally. “You can’t follow instructions, you can’t stay undercover _or_ in character – I don’t know why I bother trying to help you!”

“Because you like Kyria,” Bela said dryly.

The archangel gave her an unimpressed stare before returning to his dramatic display. “I can’t help if you don’t follow my instructions!”

“Nazis in Brooklyn,” the Winter Soldier growled.  Come to think of it, it also probably helped that he wasn’t glaring at _her._

Gabriel threw up his hands in exaggerated histrionics. ‘You're _still_ on about that? That was the _first_ scenario I gave you. I thought it would be a double win – battling Nazis goons on familiar ground.”

_“Brooklyn.”_

Victoria winced. That really had been a terrible idea on the archangel’s part.

"Yes, clearly you didn't appreciate that episode as much I thought you would," Gabriel huffed with irritation.

“Is that how you’re describing it?” Bela asked archly. "Because he was so _under-appreciative_ that he reverted to crazy Russian killer mode. I think I understood about three things out of his mouth; considering the only Russian I know are swears Nat told me never to say unless someone's dying or we're out of vodka, I was a just a tiny bit worried.”

“Be grateful you couldn’t understand what he said,” Victoria said with a grimace. Extraordinarily detailed and graphic threats sounded so much worse coming from someone she was nearly certain had the necessary skill set and experience to carry them out. She had been so uneasy she had kept him where she could see him until he started speaking English again.

Bela smirked. “Do keep in mind I sold my soul to a demon almost ten years before I ever met Kyria and joined NINJAT. I will learn to understand what he says on those bad days. Charlie got me Rosetta Stone so that the next time he goes Russian and there aren’t fictional Nazis to shoot, maybe I can talk him down from shooting _me_ again. If I ever have time to use it. I’m hoping someone comes up with a combination for a language hex.”

Victoria would have been significantly more alarmed at selling a hex app to the unsuspecting populace if it wasn’t for the fact that without supernatural power behind the hex, it really was just a flash game. And while she didn’t follow the technical details on how, apparently the ninja hackers had managed to limit it to Morningstar-based supernatural power because there were a handful of people living on crossroads contracts or with some innate power of their own. Victoria had no idea how that worked, or how NINJAT, LEGION, whatever found them, but there was apparently a college student getting clinical credits for being the hackers’ safe code guinea pig. Actually, from what Bela had said, there were two, but Jesse Turner knew it was ninja code and Kevin Tran didn’t.

But.

College credit. For testing ninja code.

She had no idea how they pulled that off.

Ninjas could probably take over the world if they wanted to.

She tried not to think about it; there was only so much strangeness she could take, even as jaded as she was becoming by her total immersion in weirdness.

“Whoop-dee-doo.” Gabriel twirled – that looked like a Twizzler. Reality-altering powers or not, it was occasionally difficult to take him seriously. “I’ll admit, it was a bad call on my part. But _what_ was up with exiting the holodeck while the ride was in motion? To kidnap a non-participant to facilitate your little arson spree? I didn't realize I needed to _tell_ you not to bring in outside help!"

"There's no one better than a phoenix for firebombing a building," Bela replied amicably. She had a point with that. "Besides, from what Dawn said, I thought he had a few issues of his own and might appreciate setting fire to something without being half out of his mind from some drug cocktail."

"So you had him burn down a _theater?"_ Gabriel pressed.

"It was only a fictional theater," she countered. "That was the whole point of this, yes? Only fictional casualties? Besides. _Springtime for Hitler_ was stunningly poor taste."

“Almost as bad as the _Storm Front_ scenario,” Victoria added. And with the so-called Temporal Cold War dumping alien Nazis in Brooklyn, the _Storm Front_ scenario had been rather terrible. “Crazy Russian killer mode” had occurred _despite_ repeated applications of Bela’s special Winter Soldier anti-anxiety hex. Fortunately, he hadn’t stabbed and/or shot anyone _not_ fictional, although Bela had gotten close. And he _had_ stabbed _and_ shot Bela prior to the creation of that particular hex.

"It was a satire! Am I the only one who appreciates bad humor?!"

“Yes,” Victoria said at the same time as Bela.

“ _Brooklyn._ ”

“And what do you have to say for the fiasco with the Lost Ark?”

"You advertised this adventure as target practice," Victoria said dryly. Bela grinned at her. Gabriel glared, but she had stared down enough egotistical, testosterone-fueled agents (many of whom probably were Hydra in hindsight) that she didn’t flinch.

“Yes, shooting _Nazis_ – not _every_ person involved in the search! You killed the hero! You were not supposed to kill the hero!"

"If he died in _Lost Ark_ there never would have been the atrocity that was _The Temple of Doom_ ," Bela replied with a savage grin.

"Missing the point!" Gabriel huffed. "You're all supposed to play your roles, not set the script blazing like Atlanta in _Gone with the Wind!"_

"I was under the impression we were deprogramming James, yes?" Bela asked with a raised eyebrow. "Shouldn't you not be trying to reprogram him?"

"It's a game! Games have rules! You had roles to play!"

"Nazis. In _Brooklyn."_

"Oh get over it already," Gabriel said in a sulk. "You are blowing that completely out of proportion."

"No," Bela said solemnly, shaking her head, "I really don't think we are."

Further proving the well-known fact that he was an overgrown toddler with access to an altogether frightening amount of power, Gabriel disappeared from the room.

Bela sighed. “Kyria might not like it if we kill her uncle, but honestly, some days I swear he’s asking for it.”

Victoria frowned. “How do we kill an archangel?”

“Well, maybe not _kill_ , but I’m sure James’ blades would do some damage. They kill angels, after all.”

“Why does he have blades that kill angels?”

Bela raised an eyebrow. “He picked up the ones they tried to use on Kyria that led to her little temporal jaunt. Angel blades kill angels, also demons, but we haven’t seen many of those recently.”

Why did anyone think it was a good idea to let the unstable assassin keep a potentially Kyria-killing weapon? And if angels thought it could kill Kyria, it could probably kill her and Bela too. As if she didn’t still have nightmares about being trapped in her own almost-corpse. Good God – and goodness gracious she really needed to hardwire new swears because after half a year of knowing better she was still using the religious based ones.

With the feathery rustling noise she'd heard a lot of in recent months, Gabriel returned, with a terribly foreboding cheer that bordered on manic.

"Back so soon to grace the lowly plebes with your stunning ego?" Bela asked sarcastically.

"I had to take care of your little firebug buddy."

"You know, if anyone else said it quite the way you did, I'd have to ask if they were using the mafia definition of 'take care of,'" Bela noted.

Now that the ninja mentioned it, Gabriel's smirk did absolutely nothing to dispel that impression. "Alrighty then folks. Let's try this again. And this time, try to stay within mission parameters."

"Do or do not. There is no try."

Gabriel snapped his fingers and Bela suddenly wore a wrinkled green hat. "I never should have let you meet the unholy trio. They could beat Stark in a pop culture war."

"Between them, Charlie, Darcy, and Becky could marshal two dozen arguments for why Jarvis shouldn't be allowed to help him, and then find seven loopholes in whatever instructions Stark gave his AI anyway."

“That too,” the archangel agreed.

"Besides, me having all sorts of random trivia at my fingertips means you don't have to explain whatever new scene you're throwing us into, because," Bela continued with a nod and a knowing look, "let's face it, you wouldn't've done that anyway. You get far too much enjoyment out of watching people flail about."

"And then telling us in exacting detail why everything we did was wrong," Victoria added. Although, admittedly, neither Barnes nor Bela was particularly good at playing whatever demented roles Gabriel thought they should play.

Gabriel made a show of thinking about it. "True," he agreed. "Level up!"

Bela groaned.

He snapped his fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

For all that Bela insisted they were in Nazi-controlled France, most of the signage was in English. Most of the conversation too. Which really didn’t matter half as much as the fact that for whatever reason, Barnes was not with them.

Given Gabriel’s previous ill-judgment in picking scenarios, Victoria was more than a little worried about where Barnes had ended up.

Still, she followed Bela into a bar where the former con artist dropped her accent to ask, “What's a girl have to do to get a drink in this place?"

"First round is on the house," replied a woman Victoria thought looked vaguely familiar, "provided you leave the war outside."

Bela returned a graceful smile that nonetheless made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Playing a role or not, the ninja-witch only smiled like that when she was up to something most normal people would consider insane. "In that case, we'll take that drink," she said, letting the British accent return in full force.

_I really hope you know what you’re doing._

Bela was a con artist and a fully trained agent and a ninja-witch and probably recognized whatever television show and/or movie Gabriel threw them into this time.

And she seemed to have made the right call with the accent because the proprietor-woman only raised an eyebrow and smiled back. "I am Katrine, the owner of Le Coeur de Lion," she said waving a hand to indicate the surrounding establishment.

“Abigail Carter,” Bela replied. “And this is my cousin Peggy.”

_What?!_ Victoria choked and ended up coughing.

With a concerned look, Katrine offered her a glass of water.

“I’m fine. But thank you,” Victoria managed.

"I would love to stay and welcome you properly, but, ah, I'm afraid I have other commitments for the evening."

Victoria turned her head to see a reptilian-looking alien dressed as a Nazi Commandant enter. Oh great. This was going to be another alien Nazi mission, wasn’t it? At least they weren’t in Brooklyn this time.

"We're not going anywhere for a while," Bela assured Katrine.

"I'll catch up with you later then," Katrine said with a smile before hurrying over to greet the supposed Nazi.

Bela and Victoria grabbed themselves a table and settled in.

"So what's going on here, _Abby?"_ Victoria asked, swirling a glass of red wine.

“We’re British Intelligence, of course.”

“Oh. Of course. And James?”

“It’s September, 1944. He’s probably around here somewhere as an American.”

“And how do you figure that?”

“Well he’s not with us, is he?”

Victoria frowned. She was not sure she would ever understand the twisted ways ninjas’ minds worked. It probably had something to do with the lack of sense and logic in most things supernatural. “He could be skulking about with a rifle.”

“Gabriel wouldn’t start him off that way,” Bela countered.

As much as she did not trust Gabriel’s alarmingly twisted sense of humor, Victoria conceded that point. “What show is this anyway?”

“I’m thinking another Star Trek, probably Voyager because I think Katrine’s the captain, but let me check.” Bela palmed her StarkPhone under the table to look up the plot to the latest scenario.

"While you're doing that, perhaps you could explain why no one seems to care the commandant has a . . . severe skin condition?"

"Oh. That's just the same sort of holodeck programming that Gabriel uses. Nobody in the program notices anything out of the ordinary.”

“Is that also why everything’s in English?”

“Hmm? Nah, it’s Star Trek – it’s probably the universal translator. I’m still holding out for a comparable hex. There have to be Trekkies using Hex.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s right, it’s Star Trek,” Bela said with a sudden grin. “If anyone here notices we're a little off, we can explain Gabriel away as a Q. He certainly fits the bill."

“I’ll take your word for it,” Victoria said dryly.

“Hmm. Okay.”

“What?”

Bela passed her the phone.  Somewhere Gabriel managed to redact their in-game Internet access, but he (usually) left enough to figure out where they stood. "We're on the starship's holodeck. Commandant Karr and his men captured the vessel and are elaborately hunting the crew over and over again."

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “So they’re a less altruistic version of Gabriel?”

Bela laughed. “I love it, but no, the crew has no idea what’s happening. The Hirogen are hunters and they’re using the crew as renewable prey.”

“We’re renewable entertainment,” she returned distractedly, studying the text on the phone. “Interesting.”

"Don't be so obvious," Bela cautioned quietly.

The former senior agent passed the phone back and tapped the screen. "According to this fake history, Commandant Karr served with Schmidt in Poland."

Bela’s eyes widened and she shook her head. "There's still a Schmidt even though he wouldn't be the Red Skull here. Of course Gabriel wouldn’t redact _that_. He’s really trying to piss James off, isn’t he?”

She snorted. “Gabriel likes to piss everyone off.”

Bela nodded her agreement. “Still. Let's not mention that to James, shall we?"

Victoria laughed, restraining the touch of hysteria. Yes, like she _wanted_ to trigger crazy Russian killer mode. If he shot her, she honestly didn’t know if dying would be worse than the memory of not being able to move, to _breathe_.

It was a welcome distraction when a Mademoiselle de Neuf – just because she didn’t actually know anything about Star Trek Voyager, did not mean she could not realize a woman with metal implants on her face had to be a member of the crew and not a random holographic mid-twentieth century French extra – signaled the piano player and began singing "That Old Black Magic."

She liked old music. Especially when compared to the horrible rappers and teeny boppers of the early twenty-first century. Whether it was her character or the programming, de Neuf did not _feel_ the music, but wasn’t half bad regardless. Victoria was a little impressed.

Halfway through the song, de Neuf broke off in mid-sentence, looking around with such evident confusion that if Victoria didn’t know any better, she would say the singer actually forgot the words to the song.

"I must . . . discontinue this activity," she said stiffly. "I am not well."

Okay, so de Neuf failed Covert Infiltrations with flying colors. Not subtle at all but, admittedly, not a bad attempt at a cover-up. The redacted episode summary (and “The Killing Game” was not _at all_ a foreboding episode name) had mentioned holographic interfaces suppressing the crew’s own memories, right? Maybe she really had forgotten the words. (And Gabriel must really want a reappearance of the Winter Soldier if he moved from alien Nazis in Brooklyn to alien Nazis with _mind-altering technology._ )

The holographic extras didn't pay any attention as the pianist began playing something else and the singer walked off, but Bela gave her a pointed look and then shifted to watch the interplay between characters.

"If the entertainment in over, I'll be going," noted the alien commandant. He didn’t _sound_ like the interrupted singing was part of whatever game he was playing with the crew, which was another point towards someone disabling de Neuf’s interface thing.

Katrine hurried to reassure the fake-Nazi that everything was fine and the singing would resume. Well, wasn’t she the fake-head of the local resistance? Of course she’d want the commandant here to work over. Granted, she was supposed to be the captain of the starship, but she didn’t remember that right now.

Nails bit into her palm as Victoria tried not to shudder. Memory-suppression technology – fictional or not – was really not a good thing to wave in front of the _brainwashed_ and still somewhat unstable assassin.

Why she agreed to participate in Gabriel’s disaster therapy she really had no idea.

“I promised the Commandant you'd be singing 'til midnight,” Katrine told de Neuf. “I want to get a lot of information out of him tonight." It was gratifying to know that despite her immersion in ninja-weirdness, she could still read a situation with reasonable accuracy.

“I am ill,” de Neuf insisted.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re dying. Get back out there,” Katrine retorted, which might have been a little harsh, but it _was_ supposed to be WWII, so there _were_ people dying and still having to do their jobs anyway.

"I won't," the singer said with finality and walked away. Although if the spook-the-Winter-Soldier interface had failed, then she wasn’t much of a singer anymore, was she? Victoria didn’t actually know any of these characters’ names. Who would have thought knowledge about pop culture would ever be this useful or relevant? But then what were the odds she would be shot by a supposed SHIELD agent, rescued by an actual witch, and forced to interact with someone as potentially destructive as Loki (who was also living in the house) and had Tony Stark’s sense of humor?

Insane realities of the somewhat fictional situation aside, Gabriel was stubbornly insistent on them trying to stay in the bounds of their roles and Victoria was considering going after not-really-de-Neuf when Bela went up to Katrine at the bar and asked for honey.

The Resistance ringleader looked as confused as Victoria felt. "I know someone who keeps bees, yes. Why?"

"It's soothing to the throat," Bela explained, touching her own. "Especially in tea."

"Well, you would know about tea, wouldn't you," Katrine retorted, less than pleased and still confused. Just why was it that a fictional character who was mind-altered into thinking she was a different fictional character could still perpetuate the stereotype about British and tea?

Victoria coughed pointedly. "What I’m sure my cousin _means_ is that perhaps some tea with honey would hasten the charming mademoiselle's return to the floor."

That interested Katrine.

"Yes, and perhaps you could talk to her," Bela added, slipping Victoria her phone. “Maybe pick out a few of your favorite songs and convince her to come back and entertain us all.”

_Pick a few –_ why was she giving her the phone – oh. Hopefully Gabriel didn’t redact access to period songs. Well, he shouldn’t. He was all about them playing their roles and all. "And why I am the one to convince her of this?" Victoria demanded. Just because she’d thought about it herself didn’t mean she liked Bela trying to order her around. She had outranked Agent Williams and, circumstances aside, she was _not_ a ninja.

Bela smiled widely in one of her _I’m-going-to-get-my-way-and-there’s-nothing-you-can-do-about-it_ smiles. "Remember how you told me that you worked best within a clear chain of command while my experience as head cat herder under Kyria elevated me into a natural leadership role?"

What Victoria had _meant_ was that ninjas were organized rather nonsensically and often made no sense at all and she had been frustrated and (futilely) trying to convince Bela to try a more structured approach for their Legion thing . . . but she could see how Bela arrived at her _technically_ accurate summary. "Yes," she bit out.

"This is me demonstrating my natural leadership," Bela said with a grin. "And if the lady proves recalcitrant, offer to accompany her."

"You sing?" Katrine asked, looking intrigued.

“No,” Victoria said flatly, even as Bela answered, “On occasion. Don’t be so modest, Peggy,” the former con artist added sweetly, "I saw your performance in Belarus."

Her eyes widened involuntarily. She’d been drugged by a third party and nearly compromised the operation with her impromptu karaoke performance. Fortunately the target had been distracted and the mission had been salvaged, but it had taken _years_ for her reputation to recover from that. And she thought the videos had been destroyed. "How?!"

Bela flashed her a grin. "Never underestimate the power of the Tech Twins.”

***

Victoria squashed her scowl as she handed the maybe-not-a-singer a mug.

“What is this?”

“Tea. With honey. For your throat.”

“Ah, thank you? But I will not sing.”

Just because Victoria was still playing catch-up and didn’t entirely understand the finer nuances of the non-humans she found herself somewhat involuntarily in the company of did not mean she did not at least have a basis for reading people. She had been a Level Seven Senior Agent because she worked her ass off and earned her position. “Forgot the words?”

The woman startled.

Definitely failed Covert Infiltrations with those tells.

“But I would guess you remember Voyager,” Victoria continued, feeling more comfortable with the fictional woman than she did with her insane housemates.

“Who are you?” the starship crew member demanded. “You are not a member of the crew.”

“Ah, no.” Victoria couldn’t help but grimace as she explained, “A Q sent us here.”

While the woman had a naturally blank expression that was almost as good as Agent Romanoff’s, there was a wrinkle on her brow indicating confusion. “I do not know what that is.”

A laugh escaped. Of course the woman didn’t know what a Q was. Helpful Bela, at it again. The ninja commander could be as annoyingly tight-lipped as Gabriel sometimes. “Honestly, neither do I. What I know is that he has too much power, not enough oversight, enjoys annoying people in increasingly irritating ways, and Bela called him a Q.”

“Bela?”

“My, uh, friend. She’s going by Abigail right now and claims we’re cousins. She’s probably talking to your captain right now. She introduced me as Peggy Carter, but while I am honored to know her, I’m not her. I’m Victoria.”

“Seven of Nine,” the woman offered. “I am usually called Seven.”

Somewhat odd name, but no odder than others she’d heard. “Hmm. Your holodeck persona is Mademoiselle de Neuf. Anyway. How’s your memorization?” Victoria pulled up sheet music with accompanying lyrics and handed the phone to Seven.

“What is this?”

“What’s it look like?” she returned.

“I do not sing,” Seven protested.

Forget covert infiltrations, this was basic mission operations. And Gabriel was probably laughing his ass off that she had to convince a fictional character to “play their role.” And she wasn’t even the worst of the group at that!

“Look, you want to help your friends, right?” she asked, somewhat impatiently.

“Yes,” Seven answered, voice trailing off in a _what are you getting at_ kind of way.

“There is more than one way to achieve a mission objective. It’s not – _usually_ – about charging straight in and blowing up a target. Sometimes if you don’t have an opening, the best thing you can do is wait and create an opening for someone else. Sometimes, you have to wait for your opening. Right now, the best thing you can do is play along and wait for your opportunity. Buy time, by playing your role.”

With much reluctance, Seven agreed to sing; she proved a quick study on the provided songs. And Bela must have spoken to Commandant Karr because the alien commander requested to heat “Peggy” sing. Captain Katrine gave her a significant look while Bela just smirked contentedly.

Gritting her teeth, Victoria sang a duet with Seven. But if she played her role, she did so while plotting how to get revenge on a ninja con artist witch with an app for sending e-hexes.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the dissociative disaster that is James Barnes' head. It's really not a happy place. And that was before he started quoting _The Charge of the Light Brigade_.

He tugged at his sleeve, then stopped when he realized what he was doing. He wasn’t supposed to – _didn’t want to_ – bring attention to the arm. His arm.

But the sleeve was wrong. Familiar and yet – not.

_Where are we going?_

_The future!_

_Half a league onward._

_Welcome home, my soldier._

He shook his head even as his breathing was carefully regulated. Too carefully regulated.

_. . . it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated . . ._

_The target will be on a train –_

_You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?_

_Into the jaws of death / into the mouth of Hell / rode the six hundred._

Back from the mouth of Hell –

_Hell’s been laying low recently. Lilith’s last move was the Horseman, which we neutralized with minimal civilian casualties, but then Kyria followed War to, well, you – nice ride by the way – and the whole thing with SHIELDRA exploded –_

~~Hail~~ Fuck Hydra.

“You may be underestimating the good citizens of Sainte Claire. I spent a summer there when I was 18.”

“Let me guess. You ate a few snails, fell in love with a local girl, and became an expert on city.”

“Uh . . . well . . . yeah. Pretty much like that.”

“I see.”

_Everyone loves Star Trek. I’m thinking alien Nazis again. They’re a classic. And we’re in France this time, so maybe you can stay on script? I’ll make it real easy for you too – just be yourself._

_You can’t erase the Winter Soldier any more than they could erase you._

But they tried.

_Prep the chair._

_Wipe him._

_Wipe him and start over._

“But believe me, Captain, those people love their town. They’ll fight for it and die for it. Don’t count them out yet.”

 “All right. But I won’t count them in either.”

Stay on script. Play his role. _I have a mission for you._

_He is the mission?_

He probably shouldn’t be lurking outside a fake American command tent in fake Nazi-occupied France.

“You should,” he announced, ducking into the tent. The two fake Americans inside stood, reaching for but not drawing their weapons.

Sloppy. He could have killed them both. Without drawing his weapon. Gunshots were not conducive to stealth operations. The asset’s value lay in remaining unseen. No witnesses.

_All the world wondered._

The Winter Soldier was a deadly urban legend.

_The two biggest ghosts in the industry –_

Had been. The Winter Soldier _had been_ an urban legend. Until Zarya made James Barnes his mission, except James Barnes was dead and was staring at him from the mirror and everything _cracked –_

_The tipping point between order and chaos._

The leather of his glove creaked alarmingly and he loosened his fist.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Captain Miller of the American Fifth Armored Infantry said pointedly, hand on his weapon.

_That would not do any good. If you were the target, you would already be dead._

The thought was in Russian.

He was getting better at recognizing the difference but the frequency of occurrence was unsettling.

_Someone had blunder’d._

_Incorrect, I am afraid._

“Well?” demanded Lieutenant Davis.

Introduced. They wanted his name.

Как вас зовут?

Soldat.

Bucky.

"Sergeant James Barnes, of the 107th."

Once upon a time.

Barnes, James Buchanan. Born 1917. Died 1944.

_None of those pieces will ever go away._

_Shatter’d and sunder’d._

“You’re a long way from your unit, Sergeant,” Captain Miller noted.

Pal, you’ve no idea.

Huh. That _wasn’t_ Russian, but it had that same lingering taste of _foreignfamiliar_.

Not the same. A better _foreignfamiliar_ , he thought. Hoped.

His head was a scattered mess of disjointed voices, full of landmines and pitfalls and sinkholes, traps and triggers and tripwires. He didn’t go poking around any more than absolutely necessary.

_Theirs not to reason why._

“I’m on special assignment with the SSR. Provided escort for two British Intelligence dames who managed to convince the brass it wasn’t a damn fool idea to send them into Sainte Claire.”

"What the hell was High Command thinking?!" the Lieutenant exclaimed. "Sending two gals into a Nazi-occupied town on the eve of battle? They'll be killed!"

_Theirs but to do or die._

_Too dumb not to run away from a fight –_

He frowned. They were difficult to kill. He had put two knives and a bullet in vital targets on Bela and none had resulted in fatality (mission objective). Ward the Fucking Hydra Asshole had apparently similarly shot both Bela and Victoria some time (three months) before he met (threatened) them. “Don’t underestimate those two. They’re hard to kill. Stubborn as my best pal Steve and twice as crafty. And Steve tried five different enlistment sites, despite being ninety pounds soaking wet, with asthma like you wouldn't believe. He's one stubborn son of a gun. The gals will have your local resistance all prepped and ready to go if they have to take on the Krauts single-handedly."

"That won't be necessary," the captain who wasn’t Captain America (Steve) (punk) replied. “We continue as planned. As assault from the north at first light.”

“It is better to begin a shift change earlier,” he said.

The two fake men stared at him for a moment and he realized with some alarm that he had spoken Russian. American soldiers were not supposed to speak Russian during this period. Cover (role) compromised. Stay on script. Salvage mission. _Not the six hundred._ Leave no witnesses –

“That’s reasonable,” the captain agreed.

What?

“Spread the word,” he continued to the lieutenant, who nodded in compliance. The captain took out a bottle of alcohol and poured drinks for the three of them.

He automatically took the proffered cup, but proceeded to stare blankly at it. What?

“You do tactical planning?” the lieutenant asked, taking his cup.

“I’m part of a special operations unit,” he replied cautiously in French.

“Work with British Intelligence often?”

“When the situation dictates,” he replied in deliberate Dutch.

“They any good?”

“Who? The gals? Some of the best I’ve worked with,” he replied in Farsi.

“That’s good.” The captain sighed and sat down and moved the inquiry to the lieutenant’s mademoiselle.

Wherever the hell Gabriel had set up for them this time, the fake people did not notice non-normative language choice. That was a positive element without Victoria present to translate his slips.

But the fake lieutenant hadn’t seen his girl in eight years, hadn’t heard from her in five, since the war broke out. There was no reason for the fake lieutenant to believe this Brigitte was still alive, but –

“With a temper like you say, she’ll probably be right there with my Brits.”

“With the Resistance?” The fake lieutenant sounded as pleased by that as _he_ had when he realized Steve was on the front lines of the war. (Not at all.) (I thought you were smaller.) (Supposed to be home safe in Brooklyn, Stevie.) “Well. Just as long as she’s safe.”

Huh. Good perspective.

_Honor the charge they made_.

When the pair of fake soldiers clinked cups, he joined in.

***

Victoria was strongly convinced Seven of Nine would have flunked out of most of SHIELD training. Given the incredulous expression Bela was wearing, the ninja agreed.

"Yes, Jayne, the grenades are shiny, but they won't help with your C4."

Sometimes she wondered if ninjas had developed their own language that only bore a passing resemblance to English.

"My name is not Jayne," Seven said with a frown.

"Oh, for – you forgot to connect the detonator," Bela exclaimed, picking up the disconnected components and demonstrating.

"This weaponry is inefficient."

"Yes," Victoria agreed, "but it is period authentic."

“More or less,” Bela added.

Victoria nodded in concession – World War Two had involved Schmidt’s Tesseract weapons – but trying to explain Hydra would only confuse Seven at the moment. Hydra weaponry was absolutely terrifying, but more efficient that standard period firearms. Between Barnes’ experience and Gabriel’s recreations, Victoria was well acquainted with the weaponry of the time.

"And authentic or not,  _Mademoiselle de Neuf_ ,” Bela continued, “Katrine and the Vulcan already suspect you may be a Nazi infiltrator. Try not to give them any reason to act on that suspicion."

“I am not a Nazi infiltrator,” Seven denied.

“No, but you’re also not, as Gabriel would say, playing your role,” Bela countered.

“You are deviating from your character,” Victoria explained. “Deviations from character are suspicious, and in this recreation the most logical explanation for acting suspicious is working for the other side. Occam’s Razor. The simplest answer is most often the correct one.”

“Except when Gabriel is involved. _Then_ hoof-beats could quite easily mean purple leopard-spotted zebras.”

Nope. Victoria was not touching that with a ten-foot pole. Her sanity was endangered enough.

“And Kyria’s pretty good at complicating things by herself,” Bela continued musingly. “Although around _her,_ hoof-beats can end up being flying unicorns. Horses are too straightforward.”

“Gabriel’s thing here is playing your role,” Victoria said more forcefully than necessary, “and thus this operates on the same basic principles of undercover work. If you know the situation and your cover, you can deviate and still accomplish your objective. But you need to know the rules before you break or else you are likely to find yourself tripped up and in hot water.”

"Probably while Gabriel stands behind you and laughs," Bela added. "And I would lay good odds on him having been the one to trip you in the first place."

"Gabriel being your 'Q'?"

"My boss's uncle," Bela agreed. "He likes her, so he puts up with us.”

“If by ‘puts up with’ you mean he ‘annoys the hell out of and repeatedly endangers’ us,” Victoria said tightly.

“He’s not actually trying to kill us,” Bela retorted, waving away her concern. “And if Ward the Fucking Hydra Asshole couldn’t kill us – and _he_ certainly tried – the worst that will happen here is that we get shot and it hurts like all fuck a little while.”

Victoria clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt. _Bela_ didn’t wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and half-convinced she was still trapped in her own corpse.

Seven looked between them, confused.

“It’s a long story,” Bela said. “Now, what are we looking for inside Nazi HQ?"

"An access panel. It will likely be covered by something easily removable," Seven explained.

“Fancy tech easily uncovered, gotcha,” Bela replied with a nod. "So, Victoria, I figure the Vulcan can handle the distraction well enough on his own until James arrives with American reinforcements. Which means one of us should stay here and help Brigitte hold down the fort and the other should help Seven infiltrate the enemy stronghold and plant explosives while keeping a surreptitious scavenger hunt from the good captain.”

Victoria pursed her lips. “Judging from your grin, I suspect you would prefer the latter option.”

The witch leaned back, grin widening into a smirk. “Well, breaking and entering was a crucial part of my skill set back before I tried to steal something Kyria was protecting. Paperwork ninja or not, I haven’t let my skills slip.”

“You did train with Agent Romanoff,” Victoria agreed.

“Still do.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Bela shrugged. “She’s not entirely fond of Steve’s BFF and wants to make sure I can handle myself if needed. She’s eased up now that Kyria’s back, but I’ve got a few tricks I’m working on.”

“How?” Victoria demanded in confusion. “You haven’t left the house for any significant length of time since we arrived.”

Another grin. “Gabriel.”

Victoria sighed heavily. “Why am I even surprised.”

***

If the real Nazis were as sloppy as these holographic fakes it was a wonder the war hadn’t ended sooner. Well, there were a lot of them. And they had Schmidt’s weapons. But even then Steve could take a whole base just about single-handedly.

Bela did not have a high opinion of Nazis. Then again, she absolutely despised Hydra, so she supposed the two fed into each other. Regardless, it was practically child’s play for her, Seven, and Katrine to use a brief break in guard rotation to sneak into Nazi headquarters. They had a basic floor plan from Brigitte, who was carrying the holographic baby of one of the officers.

And the command post had a flawed design because the young German soldier stationed at the radio had his back to the door. Katrine got him with the butt of her gun before he even knew they were there.

Nazis were clearly idiots.

Just to keep in perspective: Ward the Fucking Hydra Asshole pissing off the wrong person. If (when) she ever got in range, she was fucking hexing the bastard.

Katrine suggested what she thought were the best locations for their explosives (and despite probably not knowing what C4 _was_ outside of the alien-programming, Bela had to admit those were pretty much the same general locations she would have gone for) before checking the message the soldier had been in the middle of transcribing. "This looks like a message from one of their reconnaissance teams." Katrine pulled the headset off the unconscious Nazi and draped it over her own ears as Seven surveyed the bookcase against the wall.

Bela caught Seven’s eyes and jerked her chin at the bookcase questioningly. Seven nodded once. Wow. Hiding a secret panel behind a bookcase. Bela wasn’t sure if that was classic or just cliché.

"These must be instructions for troop deployments," Katrine said aloud as Seven removed the books from the shelves.

With the books gone, the control panel glowed in the darkened room. Fortunately, bent over the radio table, Katrine had her back to bookcase. Maybe there was an upside to the fake Nazis’ poor room design after all. And maybe it was the Hirogen who designed it, in which case it would be fictional fake Nazis’ poor room design.

Leaving the starship panel to the person who actually knew how to work it, Bela set the charges. In her experience, it was always a good idea to have a back-up plan, especially when the people she was working with didn’t know they weren’t in on the real plan.

"The Germans must be taking up new positions outside the city." Seven glanced over her shoulder to make sure the captain was still busy before returning to trying to access whatever program was keeping the crew part of the World War Two recreation. "It looks like they're mobilizing more troops than our sources originally expected." Bela winced as whatever Seven did caused the panel to  _whir_  mechanically, but Katrine thankfully didn't notice, focused as she was with the radio.

"They're moving armored units into the valley." Katrine looked down at the message she had been transcribing and put down her pen. Bela wished Seven would work faster. "They must know the Americans are coming." Well, duh. Tell her something she didn’t already know. The Hirogen were controlling the whole simulation. But to be fair, Katrine didn’t know that.

"We're got to warn them somehow," Katrine said, taking off the headset and turning around to see Seven working at a suspiciously unfamiliar console.

_Yes_ , Bela thought, putting a hand on her gun as a preventative measure.  _This is going to go over fabulously._

"What are you doing?" Katrine demanded harshly. "What is that?"

Seven turned briefly, but remained focused on her task. She had better be close to fixing this. "I believe it is a transmitter."

"We're trying to contact the Americans," Bela added.

"You're sending a message to the Nazis," Katrine disagreed flatly.

"No," Seven denied, still working.

Okay, Seven really kind of sucked at this. "Nazis destroyed the lives of two very good men," Bela announced, stalling for time. "And while I may not know Steve all that well, I've been living with James for the past few months. Believe me when I say that if a Nazi was on fire, I wouldn't piss to put him out. Depending on the circumstances, I might even go out and buy myself some gasoline and marshmallows."

"Then what –" Katrine broke off with a gasp and grabbed the side of her neck. She looked up. "Seven," she said in recognition.

It was about fucking time.

"Captain," Seven greeted with what Bela thought was relief. Seriously, Seven was almost more emotionally flat than Natasha, which was impressive, yet sad.

"And . . . I'm afraid I don't know who you are."

"Bela Williams," she answered, easily dropping away from her role. "I have the misfortune of working for the niece of a Q. He's easily bored."

"Ah," Captain Kathryn Janeway said with understanding. "Well, that  _is_  unfortunate."

See? Q was a fantastic role for Gabriel. Why should they be the only ones playing roles when it was his holodeck in the first place? He had to play _his_ role, too!

"Very," Bela agreed. "My friend Victoria is at your resistance headquarters with one of your crew and James should be coming in with the Americans any time now. Welcome to World War Two."

"Hmm," Janeway replied with an unimpressed survey of the room. "Some welcome. This is a holodeck? Where's the access panel?"

Gunfire erupted outside while she and Seven worked on the panel. Bela took up position by the window. "That would be the Hirogen. They’re the Nazis in this scenario," she added.

"Internal scans show thirteen of them on this holodeck," Janeway noted.

More gunfire. And the sound of breaking glass as someone shot out the searchlight. Then a klaxon wailed.

There was only one thing that could mean.

"The Americans have arrived," Bela announced cheerfully.

 


	4. Chapter 4

For a pregnant woman, Brigitte looked pretty familiar with her shotgun. Then again, she was a pregnant woman in the Resistance in Nazi-occupied France, the baby daddy was a Nazi officer, and there were soldiers moving on the street in the dark while a siren wailed. Familiarity with firearms was kind of a necessity by this point.

For her part, Victoria armed herself with a pair of pistols and when the door opened joined Brigitte in taking up defensive positions with a good sightline on the entryway. Program or not, it was a well-defensible entryway, a winding bottleneck that kept incomers from seeing the interior.

The soldier that came around the entry wall was armed, but his uniform was American; Victoria held her fire, Brigitte lowered her weapon.

“Bobby,” the fictional woman said with surprise.

“You owe me a postcard,” the soldier replied.

“Welcome to Sainte Claire,” Victoria announced, lowering her gun. If he was a major character, which he must be because Brigitte knew him, he was probably starship crew. All the major members of the resistance were starship crew – it followed the same would be true for the Americans.

“And you are?”

“Peggy Carter, British Intelligence,” she said with more bravado than she felt, trying to capture the spirit of the woman Dawn Morrow brought back from 1950. It might be easier if she hadn’t read about Carter in _history books_.

Hmm. Captain Rogers probably got this a lot.

It certainly explained a good deal about Coulson.

“Oh,” Bobby said. "You're one of Sergeant Barnes' gals."

_Sergeant Barnes?_ Victoria tried not to let her eyes bug out too much at that. While she was being christened “Peggy Carter,” Barnes must have entered the simulation as his own former self.

Since he was an American in this recreation, she supposed it made sense. It _was_ a ready-made role for him to assume. But still, he _chose_ to pick the easy, baggage-laden role rather than letting Gabriel assign him something.

Which, given Gabriel’s somewhat erratic sense of humor, was probably a good thing all things considered.

 It was also either a remarkable step towards recovery or a sign of something far more dangerous going on inside that head of his. Given that Hydra had been alternatively freezing, wiping, or brainwashing him for almost seventy years, Victoria honestly could not say which was more likely. Barnes’ head was twistier and less logical than the ninjas.

And given the only ninjas she knew were the rather eccentric bunch living in the “House Party,” that was saying something.

But seeing how Bucky Barnes and "Peggy Carter" were currently fighting in World War Two, all they needed now was Captain Rogers.

Unless they were doing the House Party remix, of course, which they probably were, given Gabriel’s involvement.

And Victoria could not believe she just called it that, even to herself.

The ninjas had gotten to her.

She was doomed.

"I doubt he described us in that manner," she retorted primly, desperately grasping for normalcy.

Although if this was her new normal, she really _was_ doomed to join the rest of the functioning lunatics. Ninjas and sanity did not much in common.

"Ah . . . well . . . no . . ." Bobby stammered.

“Glad to see he arrived on time,” she said shortly.

***

"I can't access the ship's systems," Janeway said, fighting with the console. Explosions outside the window rocked the building. Fortunate as she was to have been looking away at that precise moment, Bela still had to blink starbursts out of her vision. "Didn't you say this was Nazi headquarters?" Janeway asked, hurrying over to join them by the window.

"Yeah," Bela agreed, blinking to clear her vision.

"Then it would stand to reason this building is being targeted. Let's get out of here."

The three of them ran for the door. They made it outside and were most of the way across the street when the outward force of building exploding knocked them off their feet.

"And that would be a mid-twentieth century air strike," Bela groaned from her involuntarily sprawl on the broken ground. "Impeccable timing."

As the dust and rubble finally began to settle, she could not contain her shock and stared open-mouthed at a gaping hole opening the city of Sainte Claire to three and a half stories of Voyager's decks. The edges of the hole were lined with a crackling electricity that reminded her of a particularly demonstrative Kyria.

With outstanding bravado almost as foolhardy as the stories she’d heard about Steve Rogers, American forces began moving into the breach.

“What are they doing?” Seven asked.

"They just blew up a Nazi building," Bela noted dryly, shifting to move a broken chunk of something from under her leg. "They probably think they've found a secret Nazi bunker. This right here, is reminding me of Hydra."

“Hydra?” Captain Janeway questioned.

"A version of Nazis we've come across," Bela replied, being deliberately vague. "They are big on outlandish weaponry, secret bases, and hiding right under your nose," she finished with a snarl. Garrett might be dead, but she still had a score to settle with Ward the Fucking Hydra Asshole.

The only two members of Voyager's crew to know this was a starship and not actually an occupied French town elected to depart the holodeck in order to ascertain the state of the rest of the ship. Not particularly caring to remain on the streets amidst the battling forces, Bela chose to accompany them.

She ended up shooting holographic Nazis in the corridors anyway.

"Looks like the Hirogen have been busy," Janeway observed, studying the hall in its flickering light. "This entire section has been equipped with holo-emitters.” Bela was going to assume that was why the holographic Nazis were wandering the ship and not confined to the holodeck. “Let's get to Astrometrics. C'mon."

There was a Nazi in Astrometrics.

Bela shot him.

Janeway gave her a strangely disapproving look.

“I was told there would be target practice,” Bela said glibly, taking up a watch by the door and letting the starship people play with the starship equipment.

“There are eighty-five Hirogen on board,” Seven announced, accessing the computer console, “concentrated on decks two through nine.”

“What about the Bridge?” the captain asked urgently.

“Four Hirogen and Ensign Kim.”

"At least he's alive," Janeway replied, relieved. "The neural interfaces. You said they're controlled through Sickbay."

“Yes,” Seven confirmed. "There's only one Hirogen in Sickbay with the Doctor. But the corridors outside are heavily guarded."

"That's out first objective," Janeway prioritized, "disable the interfaces. But we'll need help."

"We’ve gotten a sizeable influx of American soldiers. Americans love to fight," Bela noted cheerfully.

"We also had other allies in the World War Two simulation," Seven said, taking Bela's suggestion and expanding upon it. "The French Resistance."

"It's time we mount a resistance of our own," Janeway declared.

Bela just shook her head. That was a blatantly obvious parallel – she had already noticed it, and was pretty sure that was at least part of the reason the Hirogen had picked this holodeck program in the first place.

***

Aside from the fact no one ever mentioned the Resistance bartender's name, Victoria thought she had the programmed names straight. She found herself regretting having nothing more than the most basic understanding of Star Trek, however.

"We think it's a secret compound the Nazi's built after they took over the city," American Captain Miller of the facial tribal tattoo said, looking over the map. "What I don't understand is how they managed to camouflage it so well."

"Indeed," the Vulcan bartender agreed. "We've been scrutinizing German troop movements since the Occupation. We knew nothing of this installation."

"Don't sweat it," Bobby, more formally Lieutenant Davis, advised. "Our recon planes missed it too."

"That's how Hydra likes to operate," Victoria put in. Gabriel might be obnoxious with his insistence on role-playing, but Hydra and its technology was the closest period equivalent to alien starships. Even if Hydra wasn't necessarily a period universal and probably wasn’t involved in this version of World War Two at all. (Fortunately.)

"You're familiar with this type of bunker?" Miller demanded intently. "I relayed the findings to Military Intelligence and they didn't have a clue. They suggested it could be an advanced munition lab, designed to build some kind of super-weapon."

"That is the sort of thing we've found Hydra to deal with, yes," Victoria agreed. "But they are a minor sect within the German ranks and it was decided to keep Allied intelligence on their existence classified."

"For what reason?" Davis asked with agitation. "We need to know what we're facing out here!"

"And how do you think the fresh-faced young men coming in to the front lines would react to learning they may be facing weapons we have not been able to counter, built using some sort of extraterrestrial technology?" she countered. Hydra hadn't been quite as classified as she was making it out to be in this recreation, but it had been highly classified all the same.

"You mean they have alien weaponry," Miller said with amused disbelief.

"Not quite,” Victoria corrected. “We believe they discovered an alien artifact in Norway and have been using it to design and power alternative weapons." The Tesseract and its role in the German armament of World War Two translated nicely into trying to explain to 1944-era people that the real enemy they faced was not of their Earth. "The weapons aren't common, most of the officers don't even know about them. But we've been trying to trace their source," she explained.

"This is why High Command sent you into occupied territory?"

"You didn't think they'd send in a pair of dames to teach the locals to throw lace and tea at the Germans, didja?" Barnes said suddenly, Brooklyn accent as thick as the rare times when Captain Rogers relaxed into memory where SHIELD cameras could pick it up.

"This sort of intelligence would have been useful to know before engaging in battle." Victoria let the rebuke roll over her. Captain Miller had nothing on Director Fury. "Lieutenant," Miller said to the other starship-American, "this restaurant will serve as our command post. Set up the transmitter and post guards around the perimeter."

"Yes, sir," Davis acknowledged before hurrying off.

Next, he turned to the Vulcan and Brigitte, who Victoria suspected was Klingon. (Maybe it was the alien-brainwashing, but Brigitte was neater and more polite than Nichols from IT had been the year he came to the Halloween party dressed as a Klingon. Basic physique had distinct similarities, however.) "You've done a bang-up job, but we'll take it from here. Tell your people to lie low, and that the Americans said thanks."

And then he had the absolute _gall_  to walk off like that was that.

Barnes snorted, even as the pregnant Klingon followed after him to protest in outrage, "This is our city! We have no intention of lying low."

"Listen, honey," Miller said with the familiar condescending dismissal Victoria had faced as a young (and short) female in a still largely male dominated field, "the time for sneaking messages back and forth is over. This is war, and you aren't soldiers."

"'Those without swords can still die upon them,'" Victoria retorted, quoting her favorite Tolkien character. Not that these people would know The Lord of the Rings. It was about ten years too soon for it to be published, and even if they were themselves, they were probably too busy flying spaceships and shooting death rays to read classic literature. If Tolkien had even published the work in whatever history existed in the Star Trek universe. “These people have lived with Nazis in their homes – they want their homes _back_. They may not be soldiers, but none fight as ferociously as those who fight to defend their homes."

Captain Miller stared at her for a long people, visibly uncertain how to respond and likely perplexed at an assertive woman. This was just the sort of thing the real Peggy Carter dealt with on a routine basis. Victoria had never expected to feel a kinship for the woman who helped found SHIELD.

Barnes didn’t help Miller’s confusion by loudly exclaiming, “Hear hear!”

Fortunately, the Vulcan had some skill at diplomatically changing the subject. "We have weapons hidden throughout the city. Brigitte will tell you where they are."

"Sounds good," Miller said, grateful for the reprieve. "Lieutenant, take care of it. And you, ma'am," he ordered Victoria with a half-wary glance, "tell me everything you can about what we'll be facing from this Hydra."

With some input from Barnes, who mostly stood watch by the large front window with an appropriated rifle, Victoria gave a brief and heavily edited history of Hydra. Without Schmidt as the Red Skull, she left out Erksine altogether. Somewhat to her surprise, James voluntarily admitted to having been held prisoner by Hydra for a time. She hoped that meant that either he was getting into his role as Sergeant Barnes or that Gabriel's insane attempt at therapeutic murder was working.


	5. Chapter 5

A loud clank of metal from behind the bar had everyone on their feet and aiming weapons.

A crawlway hatch opened to reveal Katrine's head. "Hold your fire," she announced belatedly upon seeing the array of weapons.

"Katrine," the Vulcan said with what Victoria thought was detached surprise as the woman climbed out. She suspected all the time spent around largely expressionless characters might help her read Agent Romanoff. Although, that assumed Agent Romanoff’s expressions weren’t feigned in the first place. "You survived."

"Are you surprised?"

"Very. Nazi headquarters was destroyed. We assumed you were killed in the explosion."

"If Ward the Fucking Hydra Asshole couldn't kill me," Bela proclaimed, climbing out after Seven, "then I'd like to see these holographic simulated knock-offs try."

Victoria sighed and resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands. Although the vulgar and non-role-complaint language were strong indicators that the ninja was feeling fine.

"What is that?" Brigette asked. "Some kind of escape tunnel?"

If the slight alteration of accent hadn't been a giveaway, then the look Katrine exchanged with Seven was. This was the Captain of Voyager now, not Katrine of the Sainte Claire resistance. Which unfortunately meant the woman no longer had Katrine's knowledge. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a problem.

"That's precisely what it is," Seven agreed.

“Hydra?” Victoria asked her ninja companion pointedly, playing their roles to an advantage.

"What else?" Bela replied dryly. "With your regular Hirogen Gestapo mixed in for good measure, of course." Yes, Bela, talk about Hirogen, because that is exactly how to play your role. Victoria shook her head. Gabriel was exceptionally, irritatingly touchy about them getting into character. Fortunately, the fictional characters didn’t seem to notice anything peculiar about Bela’s commentary.

Miller zeroed in on "Katrine." "You're the leader of the local Resistance."

Apparently Bela had filled her in on at least some of the details, because she answered, "That's right," without hesitation.

"Captain Miller, Fifth Armored Infantry," he introduced. "This is Lieutenant Davis. I take it you've seen the German bunker we uncovered."

"I came just from there." Apparently, as captain of a starship, Not-Katrine possessed the invaluable ability to ad-lib on the fly. Most field agents could spin a lie at a moment’s notice, and there was a distinct correlation between skill in the field and how believable such a story was. Victoria was one of the outliers, story-spinning not being one of her stronger points. One of the more fortunate side effects to the eye-opening and disconcerting experiences of recent months was that she was getting better at it.

"We have intel that suggests it is a Hydra munitions lab," Miller said with a glance at Victoria. "Can you confirm that?"

"It's definitely Hydra," Not-Katrine lied confidently.

"Then this is it. We're calling in an air strike." He turned to the Lieutenant. "Contact the RAF."

"I hope you’re brighter in your next life," Bela said disdainfully as Victoria started in alarm.

"Hold on, Captain," the starship Captain said with a silencing glare at the ninja second-in-command. "There's an easier way to do this with a minimum of casualties."

"Let's hear it," the American leader replied grudgingly.

"I've located the generator that powers the entire complex. It's heavily guarded, but with your help, I can get close enough to set off some explosives." Victoria raised an eyebrow. That certainly wasn't part of the World War Two script. Ah, but Not-Katrine's focus would be to get her crew back, so the "generator" probably powered the devices connecting them to the holodeck programming.

Victoria approved of this plan. It was a _very_ good idea to get rid of the alien brainwashing technology before it triggered the Winter Soldier.

"My orders are to blow the entire compound before the Germans send in reinforcements," Miller argued.

The "entire compound" was the ship they were all in the belly of. What did it say that Victoria was more worried about Gabriel’s reaction if they accidentally let the entire recreation blow itself to hell than if Gabriel would let a fictitious hull breach kill them when Ward's bullets had failed?

Fortunately, Captain Not-Katrine (she really needed to get these characters’ names from Bela) was able to talk Miller out of doing anything monumentally stupid, and further claimed to have been watching the compound for months and have a man inside. Probably whoever had disabled Seven's neural interface. Miller agreed to send in troops to clear the corridors, but refused to let her go alone, despite her protests. Being the American man that he was, he tried to make it an order.

"Order?" Not-Katrine repeated. "Do I look like I'm wearing one of your uniforms? I go alone."

"I thought you needed our help," Miller countered. "I'll be right behind you." He put his helmet on and went to arm up.

"First officer?" Victoria asked quietly. 

"How could you tell?" Not-Katrine returned sharply, shooting annoyed looks at Miller’s back. "Was it the stubborn, hardheaded arguing?"

"And the sense of familiarity of it," Victoria agreed.

"I don't really argue with Kyria," Bela said. "I just swear at her a lot."

"And threaten to bury her in paperwork." Victoria added.

Bela smirked.

Not-Katrine shook her head. "Even if I manage to disable the neural interfaces, we've still got a war to fight. We're going to need something a lot more effective than these old firearms."

"Oh no, no energy weapons, whatever will you so?" Bela mocked, rolling her eyes. "We're used to firearms. Although I will grant that energy weapons are effective."

"I trained on these babies," James added, stroking his rifle affectionately. “Stark’s weren’t as likely to jam, but there weren’t very many of those available. Howlies got better weapons supply, but you always remember your first.”

Seven ignored them all. "I believe I can enhance these weapons using Borg technology. But I'll have to access Cargo Bay Two."

"I'll go with you," Bela volunteered.

Seven gave her an odd look but only said, "Very well."

"If something goes wrong," Janeway cautioned, "you'll be the only one left who knows what's really going on."

"What are we?" Bela asked snarkily. "Chopped liver?"

"Do you know how to disable the neural interfaces or how to get around the ship?"

"Use witchcraft," Bela retorted with a straight face. Which, okay, Victoria had no idea how that would work in this setting, but it was certainly worth a shot if it came to that. Even if she really preferred not to think about what Bela could do when she put her mind to it. "I’ve found it’s very versatile. But I'll grant you the point."

“How kind of you,” Janeway replied.

No sooner had Seven and Bela disappeared than the Vulcan bartender confronted Katrine about their suspicions of Seven being a Nazi infiltrator. Because this entire scenario wasn’t complicated enough. What with holographic brain-washing and rebellions within rebellions and whatnot.

"She's on our side," Janeway insisted. "The Brits as well. You are not to harm them. Is that understood?"

The Vulcan might have argued further had the window not been shot out just then.

James swung the rifle up and shot back so fast Victoria was amazed he could hit anything. Although considering Bucky Barnes was Barton’s hero and Barton could make insane shots with whatever weapon at hand, maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Barton had taken the wings off a fly on a bet once. Coulson had been insufferably smug for weeks, and not just because he’d made a mint off the book Wu refused to confirm or deny to running.

“German forces are advancing on our position,” the Vulcan reported, joining James in laying down fire.

“Let’s give them a warm welcome,” Miller announced, hurrying around the bar and opening the hatch to the ship’s tunnels. Although the ship probably didn’t call them tunnels. And Victoria was rather past caring about that sort of minutia. “Mademoiselle, after you.”

Then they were gone as well.

“Alright, people,” Victoria announced, clapping her hands for attention. “Let’s board up that window, shall we?”

She received such incomprehensible looks that she dearly wished for the competent agents of SHIELD back, even if they _had_  been Secretly Hydra In Every Last Department (thank you Darcy). Why did everyone leave without setting up some sort of chain of command? This was exactly why Victoria missed the bureaucratic thoroughness of SHIELD. "Surely we're not going to simply invite the Krauts in for tea through the open window?" she asked sharply.

_That_ got them moving. Chairs, tables, she caught the Vulcan eying the bar before thinking better of it. Through it all, Barnes fired shot after shot over and around the heads of the barricaders. 

"Impressive," Fake-Lieutenant Davis noted.

"He's one of the two best snipers we've encountered," Victoria replied truthfully.

"I can see why. And the other one?"

Victoria had no idea what Barton was doing these days, though Bela had told Morrow he was fine, if still a little pissed. At what, Victoria didn’t know, but that wasn’t what the fake-lieutenant was asking. "Fortunately also American, but not here right now."

Once the barricade was as good as they could make it with the supplies on hand, Barnes relinquished his spot to the Vulcan and followed Davis and the rest of C Company into the tunnel.

Seriously. There was no one left with command rank but the Vulcan and he wasn’t exactly good at heat of the moment decisions.

Bela might insist Gabriel wasn’t trying to kill them, but he was certainly making strides towards killing her sanity.

***

Harry Kim was acutely uncomfortable as he made his way across Voyager’s decks. He’d been an overworked prisoner on his own ship for weeks and now that the Hirogen weren’t high on their own arrogance he really didn't want to get caught in the middle of a simulated battle because the Hirogen refused to put an end to it back when putting an end to it would have been a much simpler matter.

Seriously. Installing holo-emitters all over the ship? Running both holodecks continuously? Cannibalizing just about every “non-essential” system on the ship to make that happen? It was like a laundry list of Thing Not to Do to the Holodecks. And to think he used to think the worst thing you could do was just to turn off the safeties on the holodeck!

Turning off the holodecks would have been so very much simpler before the program breached the holodeck. Now he had to overload the emitters. _While_ avoiding holographic soldiers.

The gunfire sounded far too close and he just wanted to do his job and not get shot.

Which was why he kept anxiously looking behind him to make sure no one was sneaking up on his back. So of course the soldier from Holodeck One (Holodeck Two had Klingons) was waiting to shoot him from the front.

Fortunately, someone behind him shot the soldier that had been going to shoot him. Hopefully this one wouldn’t want to shoot him too.

“Tom!” he said with great relief. Of all the people that could show up to save him, Tom would have been his first choice. Best friend, watching his back as usual.

“Wrong guy,” Tom replied.

_What?_ Oh. Right. The neural interfaces. He didn’t know who Tom Paris and Harry Kim were. He thought he was . . . some kind of soldier.

“You speak English?” Tom asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"Yeah," Harry agreed with a grimace. He had no idea what English was, but whatever language Tom’s neural interface thought he was speaking, Voyager’s universal translators automatically converted. "I speak English."

"American?"

That was what Tom thought he was, maybe? It didn’t sound like “American” was Tom’s enemy on the holodeck at any rate. Harry nodded. "Uh, I didn't see him coming. You saved my life." _Thanks, Tom, you can put the gun down now, please._ He'd spent more than enough time staring down the business end of Hirogen weapons the past few weeks, he didn’t need to get it from his best friend, holodeck programming or not.

"Why are you out of uniform? What company are you with?"

_You have got to be kidding me._ Harry tried not to grimace too hard. "Um, well, I'm a . . . I'm a civilian."

"In the middle of a battle zone in France?" Tom replied skeptically. "The hell you are!"

Oh, sure. Why be shot by Hirogen or even random holodeck soldiers when he could be shot by his own best friend? Well, it would still be the fault of the Hirogen. Thanks ever so much for _letting the holodeck get out of control!_

Another soldier came around Tom and his holographic companion. "Ah, c'mon, Lieutenant."

Much to Harry’s disbelief, the new soldier came up and slung an arm around his shoulders. The arm felt heavy and unyielding and entrapping and Harry really hoped he wasn’t about to be shot by his friend and some holograms. "You didn't think me and the girls came all the way out here without support, didja?"

Tom half shrugged. "Well . . ."

"This here's my pal Jim Morita," the soldier introduced. Harry had no idea who that was supposed to be, but if it would keep him from getting shot, then, sure, he could be Jim Morita. Although he might still get shot If the hologram figured out he wasn’t actually Jim Morita. Which wasn’t difficult when he had no idea who Jim Morita was or even what century he was supposed to have lived in. "Don't let the looks fool ya. He's from Fresco. Good orange country."

"You sure have a lot of odd friends, Sergeant," Tom pronounced. But he and other hologram lowered their weapons and moved on down the corridor.

Harry twisted out from the other hologram's arm. "Thanks, buddy, I really appreciate that – “

“You’re not Jimmy.”

“I’m – uh, okay?”

"You're a member of the crew."

"Uh. What?"

"The starship. You belong here," the soldier said.

"Uh, yes. How did you – “

"Zarya's uncle is a Q. He has an odd sense of humor," the soldier said, voice gruffer and more stilted than when he'd spoken to Tom. "Jimmy's dead. Died of old age surrounded by a mess of grandkids. Not a bad way to go," he added softly. Then he shook his head. "Just because you don't have a role to play doesn't mean you shouldn't know the roles," he advised. “It helps you know the rules.” And then he took off in the direction Tom had gone.

Harry stared after the soldier who was too self-aware to be a hologram in confusion. 

He shook his head. Maybe the Hirogen did something _else_ to the program. It didn’t matter; he needed to go overload the holo-emitters before this got any more out of hand.

***

The Vulcan really didn't like Seven much, Bela decided when he met them at the bar hatch and demanded to know where they'd been. He looked disapproving upon learning they would be using "German" technology to enhance the weapons. But maybe that was his default expression.

Or maybe, because the Borg tended to be the unkillable villains in Star Trek and Seven was part Borg, there was some "real world" tension underlying that holographic relationship.

Either way, she liked Zachary Quinto a lot better than this guy.

Bela was very proud of the way she resisted making derisive commentary to or about the Vulcan and instead opted to help Seven produce a bigger boom from the grenades. There were a lot of things in Chuck's house that she _wanted_ to blow up; not many she was allowed to. Besides, James was on window duty, Victoria had some of Americans deferring to her, "unranked" female that she was, and Bela really didn't want to have to arm-wrestle Captain Miller for command. She would take her down-time where she could and playing with grenades was rather enjoyable.

Considerably less enjoyable was James' grumbling about switching off with the Vulcan because his rifle jammed.

"Best rifle of the period that Stark didn't get his hands on, but always did tend to jam if the rate of fire was too high," James explained.

"Starks’ve always had a way with weapons," Bela replied, having used many a Stark gun even in her pre-Kyria days when the only way she would have met the man was to crash one of his parties. She had thought about it – he had a great reputation with the ladies he took home for the night – but ultimately discarded the notion. Considering the way he (had) liked to throw money around and get shit-faced drunk, Stark maintained a surprising reputation for keeping the really valuable stuff under tight security.

The three programmed crew cried out in pain as they grabbed the sides of their necks.

"We are on the holodeck under attack," Seven began to explain.

Not fast enough.

The Nazi/Hirogen contingent forced their way into the restaurant before the de-programmed crew members could catch their bearings. And even if the crew had, they were suddenly unfamiliar with the weaponry.

Victoria made as if to fire, but Bela caught her eye and shook her head. With a resigned grimace, Victoria dropped the gun and raised her hands into the air.

James though . . . Bela stepped in front of him when his grip on the jammed rifle shifted, probably to throw it as a distraction before either going for the half a million knives squirreled on his person or physically launching himself at the Nazis. He (justifiably) did not like Nazis, but there were three ready-made hostages, casualties, and/or human shields. Fictional or not, Kyria and her band of do-gooders had instilled a desire to minimize friendly casualties. Plus, Gabriel would probably do something worse if they broke their roles again.

"Not now," she hissed under her breath, one hand on his arm, the other on the barrel of the rifle. If she had a free hand and no Nazi guns aimed in her direction she probably would be grabbing her phone, but unfortunately now was not the time for e-hexes, handy app or not.

He glared back at her, Winter Soldier mask rising to settle into place, completely burying any hint of James. She really hoped Gabriel knew what he was doing here. She also really wished she could cast an anti-anxiety hex on the former POW before he did anything to get her shot again.

James released the rifle suddenly, making Bela stagger and a number of enemy guns follow her. She slowly lowered the gun to the floor, grimacing and glaring at him.

"Smart decision," remarked a tall, thin man in German uniform.

"Aw fuck," Bela announced eloquently.

Loki's smile was full of teeth.


	6. Chapter 6

_Earlier:_

“Stop tugging at your shirt and pretend you are a proper aide,” Loki snapped.

Elliot shot him a terribly uncomfortable glare. “I’m not a proper aide,” the phoenix hissed. “Seeing how I’m not actually a Nazi. Even aside from simply being American, I identified with the other side of this war!”

“Well I would not advise advertising that too loudly,” the trickster replied blandly. “Seeing how you are wearing a Nazi uniform and standing in Nazi headquarters in Nazi-occupied France, re-creation though it is. Besides, you know how Gabriel feels about playing your role – you hardly want to upset him, do you?”

The phoenix blanched.

Loki never claimed to be above playing dirty.

“Be that as it may,” Elliot continued, even twitchier and more pale than he had been, “Gabriel don’t usually assign polar opposites as roles!”

“I would hardly call it your ‘polar opposite.’ You have agreed to be a cog in the machine of Legion, have you not?” Loki pointed out. “Victoria may be on to something about them taking over the world.”

“Not by killing and subjugating everyone!”

He didn’t need a mirror to know his smile had edges sharp enough to cut. “Congratulations, you have successfully identified why I am here as a Nazi. And to think, we’ve hardly touched on my personal history in your history lessons.”

“I thought you were brainwashed for the thing with the Avengers in New York?”

“Somewhat. But I was on my own when I attempted to destroy Jotunheim.”

The blood vessel under Elliot’s right eye twitched.

“I believe Becky wrote it off as ‘extreme emotional disturbance,’” Loki said blithely. “But I am surprisingly suited to the role of Nazi all the same.”

The twitch migrated to Elliot’s left eyelid.

Loki’s smile turned sly. “If you object so strenuously to being in Nazi uniform, I suppose Gabriel could have left you out of the scenario entirely. But then you would not be hidden inside his little idiot box and Atropos might be able to find you again.”

The phoenix shuddered.

Loki was willing to admit Atropos had been a little terrifying. Midgard’s pagan Fates were much more . . . hands-on than the Norns, if less cryptic.

“If there are no more objections, will you be taking up your role anytime soon?”

Clenching his teeth so tight Loki could hear them grind, Elliot took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“What is it?” came the muffled response.

With a hesitant glance back at the trickster, Elliot called back, “Special messenger from Berlin!”

“Enter.”

“That wasn’t so difficult,” Loki said with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow at the door and Elliot hurried to open it for him.

Loki made a loose attempt at a salute, quite unconcerned with adhering to proper formalities, before passing over a notice. “I wouldn’t call myself a special messenger, precisely,” he said with some amusement.

Karr, Hirogen Alpha, Nazi “Colonel,” and current captain of the captured starship accepted the message and looked it over briefly. “You bring more soldiers, Oberfuhrer Silber?”

“We received word the American will attack soon,” Loki agreed easily, with great confidence and a hint of disdain. Not that Karr did not already know about the Americans, he was in charge of the simulation after all and some of Voyager’s crew were undoubtedly among the Americans.

The Hirogen frowned. “Tell me, do you never go into battle without overwhelming force?”

_Hmm, no, that’s what illusory doubles were for._ “We cannot always pick our battles so favorably.”

Karr stood up, probably for the authority and intimidation, but he remained on his side of the desk. “We were well prepared for the assault, with sufficient quantities of both men and weapons. Is the hunt fair when the prey is so greatly outnumbered?”

Thor was the one who liked to rely on overwhelming force rather than proper tactics or strategy. Supposedly he’d gotten better at that. But, “When one is overconfident about their own abilities, they underestimate their prey, only to watch the prize slip through their fingers.” He’d had his own bout of overconfidence and underestimation. He still preferred not it think about it. It didn’t do to dwell on the past and all that proverbial blathering.

But it happened, and he could hardly deny it, so he held his head high and met the regard of the short-lived television character as Karr studied him. “You have hunted before.”

“You could say that,” Loki said, letting his smirk emerge. In his peripheral vision, Elliot shifted uneasily. The phoenix clearly had little enough experience with hunters and predators.

“And if you were alone, without an army to support you? Would you still continue the hunt?” the alien commander asked sharply. “If your prey were armed instead of defenseless, what then?”

“I would endeavor to outsmart them. Cunning may prevail where force cannot.” That was his specialty, after all. Tricks and lies and misdirection. There was a reason Midgardian history called him the Father/God of Lies.

“Hmph. You are a better hunter than the Kapitan.”

He smirked openly at that. They had met the Kapitan on their way into the building. “I do not believe that is so difficult a feat. I fear the Kapitan is of the increasingly prevalent sub-species that requires a display of great physical force in order to assert his superiority.”

“Yes,” Karr said with a thoughtful nod. “And you?”

“I prefer to outthink my prey,” Loki answered honestly. The best lies were based on truth; the best roles stayed closest to the truth of the actor. “My brother was always the more physically inclined one. Even when his way caused more problems than it solved, our – our father liked him better.” Curses and damnation. His tongue still stumbled over Odin. His brief return to Asgard hadn’t resolved that rift. Still, he had a Gestapo uniform and a role to play. His smile turned dark in painful memory. “I taught them that lack of superior physicality rendered me neither weak nor incompetent.”

“And him?” Karr demanded with a sharp nod to Elliot.

Loki turned towards his obviously uncomfortable “aide.” Earlier arguments aside, he did wonder why Gabriel assigned him to this role. Even with notice-inconsistencies-not programming, Elliot Crane failed at the role of Nazi. Honestly, with his mousy hair and timid posture, the phoenix seemed more in line with the era’s hunted prey.

“He serves a purpose,” Loki said simply.

“Hmm. Just remember that I am in charge of this hunt,” Karr warned sharply.

“Of course, colonel,” Loki agreed with a slight bow of his head. “I have ambitions but lack necessary abilities of a leader. I’ve found I prefer to advise near the top. I am not here to step on your toes; only to ensure no one else does.”

***

Bela hated smugness when it wasn’t her own. But while Loki practically oozed smugness, it was the Hirogen second-in-command that drew her ire. He wasn’t even smug, just disdainful and dutiful as he contacted the Bridge to inform Colonel Karr he had taken the building. _That’s_ what bothered her, she realized sourly. He announced his success at seizing the _building_ , but showed little or no regard for the people in the building. It wasn’t like the _building_ had been shooting Nazis.

But if Bela couldn’t stand Turanj, Victoria was openly glaring at Loki. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble in Germany?” she demanded acidly.

“Ah, but we are currently in France,” the alien prince countered smoothly. “And I did so desire to experience what your charming Captain once compared me to.

“I think I missed a lesson,” said an uncomfortable man in a Nazi uniform.

Bela nearly did a double-take. “Elliot? What the fuck are you doing here? Especially wearing that?”

The phoenix grimaced, looking even more like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. “Gabriel used me as bait for a scary woman with a book. Afterwards, my choice was stay where she could find me, experience the inside of a Gestapo prison, or this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A scary woman with a book?”

Elliot’s shrug had a lot in common with a cringe. “He’s holding a grudge for the burnt theatre.”

“He had that one coming,” Bela retorted in all seriousness. “What else did he think we going to do with that musical? But he used you as bait?”

“I was the only blip she could find. I don’t know what she was looking for.”

“Or why Gabriel was looking for her?” Bela asked, not really expecting an answer and not surprised when Elliot shook his head.

Further conversation was derailed by the Kapitan being curious about why “the Oberfuhrer’s aide” was chatting with the Resistance prisoners and then promptly ignoring Elliot in favor of making a rude comment about his programmed lover’s holographic pregnancy. Lieutenant Davis (Voyager’s Lieutenant Tom Paris) then almost got himself shot because Brigitte (Voyager’s Lieutenant B’elanna Torres) was his girlfriend.

Since he didn’t actually get shot, Bela though he made the right choice defending his girlfriend’s honor despite being an idiot for drawing attention to himself; Torres was just as hot-tempered as Brigitte and all too likely to give him hell about not standing up for her.

But Karr wanted the ship and thus wanted hostages and thus no one got shot, which was actually really good for the _Hirogen_ because if someone started shooting, the Winter Soldier would be the one who finished it, playing his role or not.

“You guys aren’t holograms, are you?” Paris asked after the Kapitan went away.

“If we were, we wouldn’t have any idea what you were talking, would we?” Bela pointed out sardonically.

Victoria sent her an exasperated look. “No,” she said simply.

“Then how’d you end up here?” Torres demanded.

“My boss’s uncle is a Q,” Bela replied, keeping a wary eye on James. The one good thing about being taken prisoner was that they were all sitting on the floor and, apart from the aliens with their armor and weapons, there was absolutely nothing remotely futuristic or reminiscent of Hydra. Forget sitting quietly, if this was even a fictional representation of Hydra, James would never have allowed himself to be captured, not at any cost.

She had had quite enough of being shot, thank you very much.

“That is unfortunate,” the Vulcan (Tuvok) replied with irritating blandness.

“He has his uses,” Victoria offered grudgingly. “I still don’t know why I agreed to participate in murder therapy – “

“You didn’t really have a choice,” Bela reminded her.

“– but no one’s died yet, so perhaps it is working, and if not at least it doesn’t seem to be making things worse.”

“Murder therapy?!” Paris repeated with alarmed skepticism.

“Gabriel’s got some really strange ideas,” Bela admitted. “Like when Kyria’s missing and he knows where she is but won’t say anything because of temporal mechanics that don’t even apply because retired Director Kormos was busy making waves.”

Victoria was raising an eyebrow at her.

Bela shrugged. “Just because everything turned out fine doesn’t mean he’s the only one who can hold a grudge.”

“What does your Q have to hold a grudge about?” Torres questioned.

Bela shrugged. “We don’t exactly play by his rules, but his rules are terribly limiting and occasionally just inane, so what does he really expect?”

“Less flippancy?” Victoria offered flippantly. Bela was so glad they had corrupted the formerly uptight senior agent. Mentally scarring counted as corrupting.

“And your Nazi friend and his . . . employer?” Paris asked.

“We may have utilized Elliot’s assistance in burning Gabriel’s rulebook,” Bela said with a sly grin as Victoria huffed and rolled her eyes. “So Gabriel’s a touch annoyed with him. As for Loki, there was an incident a few years ago where he tried to conquer the world and Steve compared him to a Nazi, but he was mostly mind-controlled during that. And he tried to destroy a different world a few years earlier, but I believe that was classified as an extreme emotional disturbance. And he’s generally something of an arrogant bastard who doesn’t value the lives of ants,” Bela mused, “so I guess you could call him a sort of evil Q in training? He mostly reformed now.”

The part-Klingon lieutenant looked highly skeptical. “A reformed evil Q, posing as a Nazi?” Torres asked.

Bela was pretty sure she could pack a little more incredulity into that question, but it wouldn't be easy; she just shrugged. “They’ve got odd senses of humor. I think it goes with the lifespan. The lifestyle and lifespan,” she corrected. “Kyria is older than Loki, but she’s always tried to live as human as possible; her default mindset is close to human, but she’s willing to break from that if you push her.”

“Is she . . . pushed . . . often?” Tuvok questioned.

“More so recently,” Bela replied. “Although that probably has something to do with her getting more involved in shit recently. And more complications arising recently. Like attracts like, I guess.”

“It never rains, it pours,” Victoria said.

“That too.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this chapter is [ Level Up by Vienna Teng](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U4n_8R5lKnw). It's an absolutely fantastic song, and it is definitely the song Darcy would have picked as the theme song for the deprogramming of former Russian assassins. 
> 
> (Yes, Gabriel did reference the song earlier.)

“Is James praying?” Seven asked.

The fictional woman sounded almost as confused as she had when speed-learning period songs. Probably because Victoria didn’t think religion was much of a thing in Star Trek. And they did claim to know a Q, which Victoria was pretty sure was the closest thing this universe had to gods. If Qs were anything like Gabriel, no one in their right mind would pray to one. So it wouldn’t make sense to Seven that Barnes would be praying.

It didn’t make sense to Victoria either.

Barnes’ lips were moving silently, looking for all the world like prayer. But Victoria knew how to lip read.

_. . . too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods . . ._

Bela sighed.

She must recognize it too.

Bela mustered up a smile for the locals. “We’re not really big praying types. Which is odd, considering some of the company we keep, but I never claimed we weren’t odd ourselves. _The Crisis_ is James’ equivalent of a prayer.” She turned to the unstable assassin. “James, I know Dawn's interpretation of your codename is an important lifeline for you, but I don’t really think now’s the time.”

Barnes broke off his recitation to ask in a rough, harsh voice, “What is now the time for then?”

Bela frowned. “You were speaking Russian, weren’t you? I recognize the cadence. But I understood the words.”

“Universal translator,” Lieutenant Pretty-Boy Not-Davis explained with sudden clarity that did nothing to dispel the chill Victoria felt.

It was always a bad sign when Barnes reverted to Russian.

Bela’s broad grin was ever so out of place and entirely alarming. “So come out.”

Barnes groaned and dramatically buried his face in his hands; Victoria relaxed. And since she happened to know he had a number of Vienna Teng songs on his (Darcy-suggested) playlist, she took it as a signal to join in with, "You have been waiting long enough."

Bela grinned broadly at having a co-conspirator, something Victoria found irrationally enjoyable given the fact she was being held prisoner by fake alien Nazis with an unstable assassin. But she _liked_  music, and she could admit, if only to herself, that she enjoyed singing, even if she only ever did so rarely. It probably helped that Bela had a nice singing voice that she usually only demonstrated when trying to irk someone. Much like the way Bela was smirking at James as she picked up the next line, "You're done with all the talk talk talk, and nothing on the table."

The Vice Ninja Pain-in-the-Ass abruptly stood up and began to dance as Victoria sang, “It's time to come on out. There will be no sign from above, you'll only hear the knock knock knock of your own heart as signal."

The "Nazis" turned to stare, Turanj with a glass of wine in his hand, the Kapitan with a frown, and Loki with the beginnings of a smirk. Elliot tapped his fingers in time on the edge of the bar.

Bela ignored them, doing an impromptu routine that looked like some cross between martial arts and ballet. Actually, it looked like something Romanoff would do. Bela had said she’d been training with the Black Widow.

But if Bela was dancing, Victoria had to sing on her own. She should have taken the warning grin to heart and not gotten drawn in. But if Bela had evidently spent far too much time with tricksters, so had Victoria. And she did rather like the song, despite Gabriel’s constant playing. “If you are afraid, come out. If you are awake, come out. Come out and level up.”

The sudden musical accompaniment startled Victoria, despite her involuntary familiarity with the antics of tricksters. She was glad it happened during a lyrical break because it broke her concentration.

Not so Bela, who just kept dancing.

“Begin again. Dynamite the dam on the flow. Your body feels the tock tock tock of time as it hammers.”

Loki was smirking; the Hirogen was leveling a fairly impressive (for someone Not Fury) frown at the rogue Asgardian.

"Lord, we are all cinders," Victoria continued, doing her best not to think about the fact that there really was a Lord but he was on vacation with limited success, "from a fire burning long ago. But here it is the knock knock knock of your own heart that matters."

Bela had to have learned that from Romanoff. Victoria didn’t know anyone else who could make a spar look like it belonged on a ballet stage.

“If you are afraid, come forth. If you are alone, come forth now. Eh – “

“Everybody here had loved and lost!” Barnes burst out, his deep voice rendering Victoria momentarily silent. It was a conspiracy. He smirked. “So level up and love again!”

“Call it any name you need,” Victoria picked up, finding her stride again as Bela did a spinning flip and flashed them a grin. “Call it your 2.0, or your rebirth, whatever. So long as you can feel it all! So long as all your doors are flung wide! Call it your day #1 in the rest of forever! If you are afraid – “

“Give more!” James proclaimed.

“If you are alive – “

“Give more now!”

“Everybody here has seams and scars – “

“So what? Level up!” James declared with feeling.

Loki's instrumental – at least Victoria assumed it was Loki’s doing because she didn’t know who else would bother – made it easier to keep track of the breaks in the lyrics. Darcy may have chosen a catchy and hopeful and exceptionally appropriate theme song for the deprogramming of tortured assassins, but it wasn't one meant for a cappella.

Although Bela was doing well keeping the time with twisting scissor kicks that were starting to make Victoria doubt gravity and/or physics. This had to be Romanoff’s doing but she had no idea how even Gabriel could fit more hours into a day for Bela to be training with the Black Widow!

“Let – your – faith – die. Bring – your – wonder. Yes, you are only one. No, it is not enough. But if you lift your eyes, I am your brother. And this is all – we – need. And this is where – we – start. This is the day we greet – this is the day, no other.”

Victoria filled her oxygen starved lungs with a breath she couldn't help but hold as the music swelled. Illusory instruments or not, it certainly _looked_ like Loki was playing the piano. Knowing him, he might actually be playing, or it might all be another illusion. She never could tell.

But the lyrics really couldn’t carry the song without the accompanying instruments. Especially since the last minute or so of the song was _just_ instrumental. It irked to be grateful to Loki. Victoria didn’t _really_ think he was evil, but he’d surprised her and that _uniform_ and that _smirk_ and he had nearly killed Coulson – who, _somehow_ , ended up becoming Director –

The swell of the music abruptly dropped and ended as Bela pulled off a what looked like some sort of handspring, and turned a two-handed landing into a roll that leapt up into a handstand split.

Victoria was competent at hand to hand. Never in a million years could she have accomplished _half_ of what Bela had just demonstrated.

And given the complexity, she highly doubted that performance had been as impromptu as it looked.

There was a beat of silence and then Elliot burst out in applause.

Bela dropped to sprawl spread-eagled with a breathless laugh.

“Impressive,” Seven noted.

“I’ll say,” Not-Davis agreed enthusiastically. “What was that?”

“The song or the dance?” Bela asked, propping herself up with an elbow.

“Well, both.”

“Sorry,” the witch said unremorsefully, “a good magician never reveals her secrets.”

“So you’re a magician,” Not-Brigitte the Klingon said, voice heavy with skepticism again.

“A witch,” she corrected primly.

“Riiight.”

“She is, actually,” Barnes offered amiably.

“Alright, but what does that have to do with the song?” Not-Davis asked, disbelieving but willing to humor the friendly, crazy people.

“Nothing,” Victoria answered. “That’s just Bela being Bela. It’s an early twenty-first century theme song.”

“Theme song to what?” Seven asked.

“To me,” Barnes announced with a roguish grin, looking rather less like the deadly ghost of an assassin Victoria knew him to be.

With impeccable timing, Commandant Karr contacted the holodeck. “I’ve come to an agreement with Captain Janeway.” So _that_ was Not-Katrine’s name. “Call a ceasefire.”

“What?” the Hirogen second-in-command demanded in disbelief even as the Vulcan – second-in-command was taken, but Victoria was beginning to suspect he might be the head of security – asked, equally skeptically, “Captain?”

“It’s true, Tuvok.” And that made another fictional character here that Victoria could now name. Progress. “Our first order of business,” Voyager’s Captain continued over the com, “is to call off the troops. I want you to find Chakotay and have him convince his soldiers to pull out of the city.”

“Aye, Captain,” Tuvok acknowledged.

“Turanj,” The Hirogen Commander said, “order out hunters to end the fighting.”

“This is madness!” the holographic Nazi protested. “We’re winning this battle!” The Hirogen Turanj only put up a hand to silence him.

“Our civilization depends on this agreement,” Karr said flatly. Victoria arched an eyebrow; Bela saw and grinned back. She shook her head. Ninja cohorts could find even fictional fate-of-the-world battles to stumble (or be shoved) into. It truly never rained around ninjas.

Lying scumbags they may have been, but at least SHIELD was _ordered_ chaos. Ninjas just seemed to revel in anarchy.

“Acknowledged,” Turanj the Hirgen replied. He nodded to the blue-purple armored Hirgoen with the big space gun she had no doubt Bela was plotting to somehow “borrow.” “You heard him, release the captives. I’ll tell the others.”

James was first on his feet. But Bela was second, springing up despite her exhaustive performance. Despite a healthy wariness of the Winter Soldier, Victoria accepted the hand he offered her and joined the “Allied” procession hurrying out of the former Resistance Headquarters.

The city looked surprising cheery, even with rubble and spent casings everywhere. Victoria chalked it up to bright sunlight and a lack of hostilities. Gabriel’s scenarios rarely were _relaxing_.

“I want the story behind that song,” Not-Davis said by way of reintroduction. “The dance too, but mostly the song. And how you ended up working for a girl whose uncle is a Q who decided to send you here. _And_ why his arm looks more advanced than even Borg tech.”

Barnes raised his metal hand in imitation of a wave and Not-Brigitte did an actual double-take, almost stumbling over a chunk of brick. Not-Davis caught her arm and Barnes flashed her a roguish grin.

“You want a lot,” Victoria noted dryly.

“Well – “

“Our first priority should be to locate Commander Chakotay,” Tuvok interjected.

“You can do that, but first I want a match,” Bela said unexpectedly.

“You want _what?”_ Victoria exclaimed, sharper than she meant to, but honestly, _what?_

“A match,” the witch repeated guilelessly. “You know, strike a light? Little wooden matchstick? No?”

“ _Why_ do you want a match?” Victoria asked in exasperation. She should have known her idea of relaxation was too far-fetched for ninjas; they needed illogic and insanity to thrive.

“I need to test something.” Because that wasn’t ominous _at all_. “It’s not like matches are hard to find. American soldiers smoked like chimneys in World War Two.”

The fictional characters all looked as confused as Victoria felt. Even Seven. But Not-Davis looked curious and started digging in his uniform pockets. With an amused look, Barnes pulled out matches first. Bela accepted the offering with a grateful smile.

The match didn’t catch.

Undeterred, Bela tried again, with similar results.

Looking far too pleased with herself, the ninja grabbed a gun from a fallen soldier and aimed it at a hanging sign.

“Woah!” Not-Davis yelled, but his voice trailed off uncertainly when she didn’t fire.

Correction: the _gun_ didn’t fire. The trigger clicked but nothing happened.

Bela tossed Not-Davis the jammed firearm with a grin. “Now for the _real_ test.” She grabbed one of the big space guns from a dead Hirogen and, dancing out of Victoria’s reach, took aim at the sign. The gun whined but didn’t fire.

“What’s wrong with it?” Not-Brigitte asked.

“I cast a spell on it, and now it’s _miiine_ ,” Bela sing-songed with a laugh. “I told you, I’m a witch.”

“The dance?” Barnes guessed.

“Yep. Did it with Nat one day by accident. _All_ the guns at the range couldn’t be that shittily maintained. Fortunately, the gym had cameras so we could work out what we did. We haven’t worked out the full range yet, but it seems to be an anti-combustion hex.”

Victoria tried very hard not to gape. “You can _dance_ hexes?”

“Nat can, too.”

“ _Agent Romanoff_ can dance hexes?!” She had suspected the performance was something Bela had learned from Romanoff, but the Black Widow certainly didn’t need witchcraft to be deadly.

“Yep.”

She covered her face with her hands. She was right. Ninjas were going to take over the world one day. They just – she shook her head. Illogic and insanity followed in their wake. There was no way around that. They weren’t even _trying_ to take over the world.

The fictional characters were still staring by the time Victoria finally composed herself.

“A witch, huh,” Not-Davis managed.

“We still need to locate Commander Chakotay,” Tuvok insisted, mentally shaking himself out of his daze.

“Yeah, sure,” Not-Davis agreed. “The explanation’s probably gonna take a while. A real witch. This is bigger than your high-tech arm, I hope you know,” he confided in Barnes.

Barnes actually grinned at that. “I don’t know, my arm’s got a tale of its own.”

“Seriously?” Not-Davis exclaimed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. You guys have a _Q_ dragging you around on adventures. Of course you’ve got a witch and a Borg arm. What’s your story?” he asked Victoria.

“I’m the sane one,” she replied dryly.

Not-Brigitte snorted. “Let’s get a move on. The sooner we find Chakotay, the sooner we get out of this program and this _thing_ will stop kicking me.”

Bela snickered.

Not-Brigitte glared. “Holographic pregnancies shouldn’t _kick_.”

“C’mon, B’elanna,” Not-Davis cajoled. “We’ll be out of here soon enough. But they have a witch and a Borg arm. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Maybe a little,” B’elanna conceded.

Barnes snorted. “Just don’t complain when you don’t believe us.”

“It gets bigger than a witch and a Borg arm?”

Werewolves and archangels and superheroes and writers and whatever Eleanor was, all on their way to accidentally taking over the world. “Yes,” Victoria said with absolute certainly.


	8. Chapter 8

It went against the nature of the hunt to release prey once captured. The catch and release foolishness of these _holo-decks_ grated, but Turanj would not disobey his Alpha.

However much he wanted to.

A ceasefire with prey.

“I have always thought highly of you,” the Kapitan said.

“Have you?” he asked absently.

“Yes. But the Kommandant is a fool.”

Certainly, but Turanj had agreed to support Karr’s decisions. Karr was Alpha.

But.

A _ceasefire_. With _prey_.

“He doesn’t understand,” the false man-hunter continued. “He’s never embraced the Fuhrer, or his vision.

Oberfuhrer Silber made a disparaging noise. Turanj turned to see him lounged against the musical device he had played for the – the prey.

“You dare to mock our Fuhrer?” the Kapitan demanded in outrage.

“I dare mock whomsoever I desire to mock,” Silber replied silkily and unimpressed, getting to his feet and coming over with a hunter’s stalking grace. “But in this case, it is _you_ I am mocking. No vision?” He snorted. “It is _glorious purpose_ , not a lack of vision, that allows one to forfeit a battle in order to win the war.”

“He declared a ceasefire on the of victory!” the holographic Kapitan exclaimed. “We would have won the battle! As we will win the war!”

Silber stared as if the Kapitan was a simple-minded child certain to fail his first hunt. “You are even more of a fool than my brother. Truly extraordinary. I had not thought such a thing possible.” He shook his head mournfully.

“How is it foolish to finish a hunt?” Turanj demanded.

Silber made a derisive sound and crossed his arms before apparently reconsidering and waving them in broad sweeping gestures underscoring his words. “What good does it do you to first a hunt and find you’ve depleted your prey past all recovery and there will be no hunts for the future? To hold territory in war, you must either slaughter all those in your path, or you must hold the loyalty of the people.”

“We do not need their loyalty,” the Kapitan spat in disgust. “One does not cooperate with decadent forms of life. One hunts them down and eliminates them! They will be removed from the glory of the Third Reich; Europe will be purified.”

Silber shook his head. “You would just kill them all. Of course. Let us just smash it with a hammer, shall we? That _always_ works,” he added snidely. “There must always be lesser beings to do the menial work you will not degrade yourself by doing. What will you eat if you slaughter all of these decadent farmers, hmm? Will you hang up your pistol and take up a plow?”

“We will hunt,” Turanj proclaimed. They were, after all, hunters before all else.

“Ah, yes. Cattle,” Silber agreed thoughtfully. His expression turned sharp and feral. “And when all the hungry mouths of the victorious Third Reich devour the livestock faster than the cattle can breed? When your thoughtless for the future resounds in the aching emptiness of your belly? Will you turn on each other next? The Vikings believed they could gain the strength of their enemy by eating his flesh. Usually the loser was dead when they started eating. They did not always cook the meat, though.”

The Kapitan drew back, repulsed. Turanj . . . did not know where Silber was going with this. He no longer believed Silber was one of the holographic false-men, but nor was he one of the Voyager-prey. Silber, therefore, was an unknown. He seemed to agree with the unnatural notions of the Alpha, however.

“What is your point?” Turanj demanded.

“There is nothing wrong with the thrill of the hunt,” Silber informed him. “So long as you do not live _only_ for the thrill of the hunt, with not a thought or concern for what comes after. If you seize territory without thought for how to control it, how to govern or subjugate its populace – you lose ground in trying to hold it. A . . . certain degree of foresight is required. It is the duty of a leader,” Silber said decisively, “to ensure the future a people. And if the leader falls prey to the lure of the hunt instead of thinking of the greater welfare of his people? If he thinks only of the present and not the future? Then he and his people will have no future. They will fall upon themselves like rabid dogs, scrambling for increasing limited resources, and further hastening their own demise.”

Turanj narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this?”

Silber lifted an arm and then dropped it helplessly. “Because I had the chance to rule. And I could have done it well. I _should_ have done it well. But I knew – thought I knew – that I would receive no recognition for my skill,” he said bitterly. “I became so focused on proving my worth to my father, to outshining my foolish lunk of a brother – _for once!_ – that I lost sight of all else. And I was forced to realize that . . . I could never prove my worth to him. Not as I was.” He made his way to the bar and poured himself a glass of the foul synthetic liquid. “Instead of admitting my error, I sought to avoid it, avoid the weight of responsibility that comes with leadership.” His laughter was a terrible sound. “So instead I let go. And I fell into the grip of one who made my machinations look like child’s play, using methods that would turn even _your_ stomach.”

Silber threw back the drink. “Not bad for an Earth vintage, although Stark has a better stock. It cannot be helped. My best weapon is my mind,” he announced. “It always has been. Even beaten and broken and under the control of another – I plotted and I schemed. At his behest I attempted to conquer at entire planet. I thought – well. It hardly matters. I failed. But that time? I _learned_ from my failure.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Someone came along to make me learn. But he . . . did me a favor. Do you want to know what I learned?”

“I think you will tell me regardless,” Turanj said, curious despite himself.

“Humans are impossibly difficult to conquer.”

“No prey is impossible,” Turanj refuted.

“Oh, humans are,” Silber disagreed. He let out a huff of amusement. “Humans are impossible creatures. They make _no sense_. They persist when all logic says they should cease. They can flip from the most destructive impulses imaginable to the most merciful in scarcely a heartbeat. If there is something they truly desire – they will stop at nothing to achieve it. If they don’t want you there? They are _ants_ , and they breed like ants, and they will never stop. They will only wait. And you silence one – but he has friends. And they have friends. And some just want to fight, and some will join the fight for the most ridiculous of reasons. In order to hold the territory of obstinate humans you would have to slaughter every last one of them. And even then – they would salt and burn their own land before they let you have it. They’re just . . . impossible. I have come to accept that this is one battle I just can never win on my own terms,” Silber admitted, pouring himself another drink and proceeding to stare at it. “The only way to win is to join them.”

“Join the prey.”

“Yes, the disdain is just dripping from your words,” Silber noted with a laugh. He raised his glass and drained it. “It is not as bad as it sounds, really.”

“Join them?” the Kapitan repeated in furious contempt. “Join the Jews? You are even more of a fool than the Kommandant! Join the Jews! _This_ is our destiny!” he declared, circling the bar to stand before the flag of the Nazis. “The field of red – the purity of Germans blood. The blazing white circle of the sun that sanctified that blood. No one can deny us – no power on Earth or beyond. Not the Christian Savior, not the God of the Jews. We are driven by the very force that gives life to the universe itself! We must countermand the Kommandant’s orders! Stay and fight! We must be faithful to who we are!”

“Now _that_ sounds like glorious purpose,” Silber said with a smirk and a snap of his fingers. “Alas. It is all rabid fanaticism without substance. Germany lost this war. Not even such fanaticism in their own superiority could stand against the surging righteousness of truth, honor, and patriotism brought to bear. Moreover, the Christian Savior _is_ the God of the Jews. And, yes, he is not going to stop anyone, seeing how he abdicated just about all of his responsibilities. _However_ , he left an astonishing amount of power to be taken up by an otherwise unassuming woman who _has_ all the power of Earth and beyond and will most _certainly_ deny you. It is rather what she does. As for you . . . I thought you a terribly amateur shadow of my brother, from when he was younger. Before Jane. But you’re not.” Silber’s expression, which had momentarily softened, turn hard again. “Even as a reckless, arrogant, hot-tempered and short-sighted youth, Thor was as a god to your pitiful planet. You are a lowly ant, laboring under the mistaken impression that if you stand with enough other ants, you can all aspire to godhood. You cannot.”

There was a crack of gunfire.

A rictus of twisted fury formed on the Kapitan’s face, even as a dot of red beaded up between his eyes and he fell.

Silber studied the gun in his hands. “Hardly civilized,” he concluded, “but I can see the appeal.”

“You are not from this program,” Turanj finally said, staring at the man whose “aide” had departed in the company of the Voyager-prey and the others . . .  who also were not from this program.

“No, I am not.”

“Nor are you from Voyager.”

“Correct again.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Loki, called Silver-Tongue, still officially a Prince of Asgard, despite treason and treachery and the damning truth that I share none of their blood.” He grimaced. “It’s . . . _complicated_ , I believe is the expression.”

“ _Silver_ -Tongue,” Turanj repeated.

Loki chuckled. “Silber, yes. You should see some of the names Morningstar uses.”

“Did your brother ever learn? Your foolish lunk of a brother who only saw the glory of the hunt?”

“Eventually,” Loki admitted. “He had to lose everything first. And then I proved he had more to lose. Ironically, I learned the same way. But Thor was stronger than I – he always was,” he added sourly. Then he sighed. “I pushed him too far and instead of falling further, he rose up greater than before. It would have been magnificent to watch if I had not been so determined to rise higher than him for _once_ in my life.”

“But you did not.”

“No, I did not,” Loki agreed tiredly. “I fell further than I ever thought possible. I . . . needed help to stop falling. It . . . wasn’t weakness to accept aid. I’ve regained much of what I’d lost.”

“By joining your prey?”

“By accepting the assistance of a stronger, more intelligent subset of my former, ah, prey,” Loki amended.

“Hmph. You believe this to be the right course of action?”

“Think of it as – a much larger scale hunt. You hardly skimp preparation at the commencement of a hunt, do you? Run off without investigating what it is you are hunting or gathering supplies?”

“That can be an indication of a poor hunter and leads to less fulfilling and prosperous hunts,” Turanj allowed.

Loki gave him a beneficent smile. “This particular hunt is your people’s future.”

“I . . . see,” Turanj said slowly, thinking that even if he did not completely understand the subtleties of Loki’s point, he did understand where Karr was coming from now. At least somewhat.

“Not every leader has the ability or the vision to see this so clearly laid out,” Loki told him. “You should appreciate that your people are possessed of one who does.”

“And what of your people?”

“My people,” the other repeated with a chagrined grimace. “The man who raised me has singular vision, unmatched by any, but he has a tendency to look too far afield, seeing more of what could be than of what _is_. He also can be too obstinate to admit when a mistake is made. Fortunately my mother is there to balance his failings. Though she does not always meet with success.”

Turanj tilted his head in consideration. “What vision do you have?”

Loki’s chuckle was self-deprecating. “Me. Ah. I have the vision to know that I am not a leader. However much I desired to be one. I am too focused, too . . . caught up in the details as they say. I may grow into it in time, but, not as now. Twice I have tried and twice I have failed. I will attempt a third until I am sure I have cured those faults which brought about the failures. And if a cure is not possible, then I will settle for a treatment and mitigation.”

“I cannot be the kind of leader you think I should be,” the Hirogen admitted grudgingly.

“I do not think you should be anything,” the being who did not belong in this program pointed out. “I merely told you what kind of leader your people _needed_.”

“The kind of leader Karr is.”

“Yes. But he needs someone more focused in the present to keep him balanced.”

“Like your father needs your mother.”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw jumped. “He is not my father,” he hissed.

“He raised you.”

“That does not make him my father,” Loki snarled, finally looking angry. “He did not treat me as equal to his _son_ and kept the truth from me. Frigga is my mother, but Odin merely raised me.”

“Then that is a failing of his type of leader,” the Hirogen concluded. “I will be Karr’s counterweight. I will honor the ceasefire. But I do not like it. And I do not agree with it, however much I see the point you are trying to make.”

"Age and experience," Loki said. "They often bring wisdom in their wake, if only so that we may learn from our mistakes."

***

It was familiar and soothing and undeniably amusing to watch how people jumped in startlement when he dropped his illusion beside them, even if the jumpers were only fictional characters.

Fictional characters could still be disturbingly perceptive.

“Enjoying yourself?” Morningstar’s witch asked with a smirk.

“For a fictional setting based on entirely-too-recent Midgard history, surprisingly enough I am,” Loki replied with uncharacteristic honesty. Well, he was somewhat unsettled from that conversation with the Hirogen Second. _That_ was not an encounter he would quite use “enjoy” to describe. So it was not _entirely_ honest.

“So you’re the proto-Q, huh?” the cocky starship lieutenant asked.

“Only in that I lack the reality-altering magnitude Gabriel possesses, even in my own Realm,” the trickster countered sharply. “Proto-“ implied something unfinished or unfulfilled. Loki was not unfinished; he was . . . himself. And while he could advance his abilities through practice and study, he could not aspire to the admittedly lofty heights of an Archangel of Midgard. Nor, taking into consideration the spatial limitations and the associated strings and the restrictive pressures and the so-called “ineffable rules,” did he particularly desire to.

“Proto-Q,” Bela repeated thoughtfully, rolling the word over her tongue.

“What _is_ it with ninjas and absurd nicknames?” Hand demanded with exasperation.

“That’s classified,” the witch retorted.

Hand rolled her eyes.

“In all seriousness, how else were we supposed to put classified supernatural information in reports? I would have happily skipped the reports altogether, but the Director wouldn’t go for that.”

“You don’t answer to the Director anymore,” Barnes said with a frown.

“Either one of them,” Bela added. Hand glared. “We made it our own,” the witch finally said with a definite air of “duh.” “They’re harmless and they’re fun, and we’re still more classified than the nuclear launch codes, although I wouldn’t be surprised if that changes.”

“Nuclear launch codes?” an officer with facial ink repeated. “Nuclear weapons haven’t been used since the Third World War.”

Hand’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “ _Third_ World War? Oh, that’s comforting.”

The witch waved it off. “We’ll take over the world before it ever comes to that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the former senior agent replied sourly.

“Is that a good thing?” Barnes asked.

“Kyria’ll be queen. It’ll be great.”

“Yes,” Barnes agreed brightly.

Loki rather doubted Kyria would agree with that sentiment; she was a remarkably ideal leader though. Perhaps dwelling a little in the past, but it had little effect on her performance.

Morningstar was a worthy leader, one Loki was willing to follow.

“You all know each other?” the crewman asked, tattoo distorted by the creases in his brow. “Then why are you here with the enemy?”

“Playing my role,” Loki said silkily with a toothed smile.

Bela snorted. “Introductions aside, he’s not the enemy. He’s good as an opposing force. Like a foil.”

“That _is_ my usual role.”

“Does your usual role often involve invading armies?” Hand said with a lingering edge of bitterness.

“When necessarily,” Loki replied. At the witch’s raised eyebrow and pointed glance at her phone, he relented. “Although in this case, my role involved countering the Kapitan’s influence on Turanj.”

“Thank you for keeping the Hirogen Beta from doing something stupid,” Bela said with sickening sweetness. Barnes frowned.

“What counts as stupid?” the pregnant and aggressive fictional woman asked dubiously.

“Murdering his superior because his ability to plan for the future was absolute shit,” Bela said dryly.

“I would have given the reason as an inability to balance emotional glorification with personal responsibility,” Loki mused aloud.

The witch side-eyed him perceptively. He had to remember to watch himself around her – despite her humanity, even before the application of witchcraft, Morningstar’s right hand had a history of being not unlike a trickster herself. It left her too aware of the truths he masked. He was not dealing with his brother’s band of obtuse warriors any longer.

No. Instead he was dealing with too-sharp ninjas who saw through him far too often and Gabriel, who was a category all on his own. Gabriel whose scenarios were either absolutely ridiculous or entirely too close to the mark. Gabriel who was too much of a trickster at heart to ever just do a scenario merely for the benefit of Barnes when there were so many other participants he could irritate and educate.

There was a reason Gabriel had taken him as a protégé, after all.

They were far too much alike.

And because they were far too much alike, he could not help but see the purpose of his role here.

Karr. Turanj.

He understood what Karr was trying to do here. Seeing the big picture, as a leader ought. Building a future for his people – undeniably a noble goal. And using holograms as prey instead of real victims was certainly a novel way to bring roaming hunters back together as a culture instead of mere scattered nomads.

Despite what he had tried to convince himself, his own goals had never been so noble.

And Turanj –

Turanj reminded him of nothing so much as what Thor had once been. Perhaps not nearly as powerfully arrogant or as liable to blunder head-first into the thick of yet another foolish situation, but – yes. He shared the Thunderer’s old arrogance that personal superiority and strength of arms would – and moreover _should_ – carry the day, with no thought spared for consequence or the future.

It was among the (many) reasons he had sabotaged the coronation. He had thought that if Odin only _saw_ the foolishness that possessed Thor –

But it hardly mattered now.

The Kapitan had been – how would Becky put it? – a rabid fanatic. Nothing would ever make him see reason, and as he was a fictional and short-lived holographic character temporarily given form and substance by Gabriel, Loki had little remorse for decisively and permanently silencing him.

Turanj was a more _dynamic_ character. Here, if not in the original material. But as Thor had exhibited personal growth, so could he.

Admitting he had not wanted to kill Turanj would require explaining – and properly admitting – that he had once actively sought his brother’s death.

Loki had no desire to try to explain to others what he could barely admit to himself.

It galled him that he was so transparent, but it was Gabriel and Gabriel was . . . Gabriel. Gabriel who alleged to send him into the simulation to remove Elliot from Fate’s purview, yet still managed to fit him to a role. A perfect role. A perfect mask, crafted from truths that revealed too much. That Gabriel could do that so well only proved the earlier simulations were as purposefully ridiculous as they appeared. Why, Loki could not even begin to fathom. Or . . . could he?

Were they Gabriel’s own mask? Disguising his true abilities with jests and outrageousness. Loki had used barbed words and sleight of hand, but it amounted to the same thing.

This sort of true roleplay was as illuminating as it was disturbing. Loki was quite ready to return to the ridiculousness.


	9. Chapter 9

Bela lounged in the outdoor café chair, winking at a fictional soldier even as she accepted her phone back from Victoria.

“That was more complicated than it needed to be,” the former senior agent said of the now-unredacted episode summary. Apparently Turanj was supposed to kill Karr and then be killed by Janeway.

Bela shrugged. “It’s television. And _Voyager_ didn’t have anyone to talk Turanj out of testosterone poisoning.”

“Does this mean we’re done now?” Elliot asked.

“I suppose that depends,” Loki drawled.

“On what?” Bela asked with a smirk.

“Whether Gabriel is finished with the lady with the book.”

Elliot shuddered. Bela rather wanted to meet this woman, but she suspected it was not a good idea. Not that that had ever stopped her before, but Gabriel seemed to want them all out of the way and the phoenix was scared shitless of her, so maybe Bela would hold off for now.

“I think we actually managed to stay in-role for that,” Bela mused, rather impressed with them. The source material got a better resolution and they didn’t even have to torch the rulebook for once.

“Well we were cast primarily as ourselves,” Victoria pointed out. “That helped.”

“I barely got to shoot anyone,” James complained.

“What do you call this morning’s rifle practice?”

“Plugging holes that leaked like a sieve.”

Bela snorted.

James grinned at her.

“I’d say there’s two Hirogen who didn’t originally survive, but after all the trouble of saving them, it seems counterproductive to kill them,” Bela said. “The holographic extras might work though.”

“We are not massacring fictional civilians,” Victoria said with weary resignation.

“That would decidedly _not_ be in keeping with your roles,” Loki noted.

“I am all for not annoying Gabriel,” Elliot added with some alarm.

“What they said,” Gabriel said, announcing his presence.

Bela turned and choked on a laugh.

Only Gabriel could pull off wearing an original-design Captain America costume while eating a Turbo Rocket ice pop. She pulled herself together enough to snap a picture because that was just _hilarious_ and she needed photographic evidence to share with Charlie, Darcy and Becky.

“Congratulations, troops. _This_ is how you play your roles. Level up!”


	10. Chapter 10

“You are sixteen going on sevente – “

_Crack._

“Rolf? Rolf? Oh – oh – help! Someone please help! Rolf’s been shot!”

There was a sound like a fluttering bird.

“Seriously people? You were doing so well with the role-play finally too!”

“Better she mourns the boy who loved her rather than having to remember the heart-breaking Hitler Youth asshole he turns into.”

“So you have him shot in front of her? Way to scar her for life.”

“Way to conveniently forget to mention someone was trying to kill Kyria! I know Fate’s a bitch – “

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“– and it all worked out in the end, but this thing you do where you pick the worst time to shut your trap and Kyria’s in trouble? Really pisses me off. Consider yourself lucky we went after the Hitler Youth asshole and not the annoying singing Von Trapps! Your rules cannot compare to Kyria’s _life_. Don’t push James on that, he idolizes her and is still pissed at you for _Storm Front_.”

“Brooklyn.”

“Let it _go_ already, Princess Elsa.”

_Snap_.

A muffled laugh.

“Nice dress, James. Blue’s definitely your color.”


End file.
